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THE TRAGEDY OF BADEN 



The Tragedy of Baden 


BY 


CARY H. WILKINSON 



i > 

> > > 


NEW YORK AND WASHINGTON 

THE NEALE PUBLISHING COMPANY 
1906 



LIBRARY of CONGRESS 
Two Cooies Received 


JUL 7 1906 



Copyright, 1906, by 
CARY H. WILKINSON 





CTv 


THE TRAGEDY OF BADEN 


CHAPTER I 


Ella Coleman had been a widow for two 
years, and the gloom of desolation follow- 
ing her sudden and severe bereavement 
had but partially worn away with time. 

Her husband had lost his life in an alter- 
cation, and the law had vindicated his atro- 
cious assassin, upon the plea of self-de- 
fense. Ella, who had looked upon her 
husband as the ideal of perfection, as did 
also the community in which he had re- 
sided, was felled by the blow for months 
afterwards, and in her sorrow clung but 
the dearer to the darling image of his love 
he had left for her to rear and nourish. 

Mrs. Coleman was a lady of culture and 
refinement. She was possessed of beauty, 
and besides with a rich and lovely voice. 
Her husband’s death left her in moderate 
circumstances, and her scanty means had 
been sparingly divided between herself and 
little daughter in order to supply their 
direst wants. 

Katy was the name that had been given 
to the child, and during the life of the 

7 


8 


The Tragedy of Baden 


father all that luxury could suggest had 
been lavished upon both the child and 
mother. Nothing but the most refined in- 
fluences had been cast about the little one, 
and even at the age of ten she was by all 
who knew her considered to be the bright- 
est, prettiest, and most endearing little lady 
in the community. 

Katy was a typical blonde, with a shower 
of golden curls falling from her beautifully 
rounded head, while her eyes rivaled in the 
richness of their color the clearest cerulean 
blue. For a child she was well advanced 
in the rudiments of education, yet she was 
a total stranger to the ways and manners 
of the world. 

Mrs. Coleman shed tears when she looked 
into the upturned face of her little daugh- 
ter, and sought to solve the problem of 
her future existence. 

‘ ‘ For myself, I care little or nothing ; for 
my child, I am willing to die. Our means 
are now nearly exhausted, and I see but a 
single prospect before me of restoring my 
darling to the life she enjoyed during her 
father’s existence, and to which she is by 
birth and heredity entitled. I have talent, 
but to what purpose does it avail me, un- 
trained or undeveloped? With development 
and culture my voice could be made profit- 


The Tragedy of Baden 


9 


able, and Katy conld be restored to that 
life and environment which it was her 
father’s unrealized dream to rear her in. 

“To acquire such culture must neces- 
sarily take me far away from my child, for 
a while at least; and my scanty means 
would never admit of my success with her 
to care for while undergoing my training. 
I must leave my daughter here in some 
good hands, until such time as I can prop- 
erly provide for her, when I can take her 
to my heart and home again, as once before. 
But here comes the perplexing problem — 
where can I place her? Who will be a 
mother to her while I am gone? Who will 
rear her in the life of refinement and recti- 
tude I would have her brought up in? 

“I know of no one to whom I would en- 
trust so delicate a charge. We had our 
coterie of friends, but they have drifted out 
of sight, as friends are wont to do when the 
clouds of adversity lower over us; and I 
really have but one resort, and that is to 
place my darling in an orphan asylum, un- 
til I return. There is one here, and I have 
often noticed the sweet and happy faces of 
its inmates while passing by. Some of these 
children show the stamp of better days im- 
printed on their faces. They are not all 
waifs. I will place Katy under the special 


10 


The Tragedy of Baden 


care of the directress, and beseech her kind- 
est love for my child; and should I never 
live to return and claim her again I will 
die with the consciousness that she is in 
good hands, who will watch over and pro- 
tect her. 

“And now this is my conclusion, and I 
must hasten to put my determination into 
execution; for time is valuable; and every 
day gained in getting off will bring my 
cherished hopes the nearer to fruition. 
Poor child, the parting will be hard on her, 
as it surely will be with me, but she is sensi- 
ble; and if kindly treated she will soon 
become attached to those around her.” 

Mrs. Coleman called Katy to tell her of 
her intentions, and the child came to her 
side, clasping a cherished, worn-out doll to 
her innocent breast as she responded. The 
mother carefully told her of the contem- 
plated trip, and what it meant for her in 
the near future. 

“Mamma will come and bring you better 
dolls, and prettier dresses ; and we will both 
be happy in a nicer home.” 

The child cried bitterly at the strange an- 
nouncement, but finally her tears dried 
away like dew drops on the lily in the morn- 
ing sun, and she fell to sleep sobbing in her 
mother’s lap. 


The Tragedy of Baden 


11 


The next morning Mrs. Coleman dressed 
Katy in her neatest frock, and leading her 
by the hand she walked over to the orphan- 
age, a Catholic institution a half mile dis- 
tant from the Coleman cottage. 

The mother rang the bell, and a Sister 
dressed in black and wearing a snowy white 
bonnet came to the door. 

“Are you the Superior of this institu- 
tion ?” Mrs. Coleman asked. 

“No, madam,’ ’ was the reply, “but if 
you will walk into our parlor I will call her 
for you.” 

The mother and daughter entered as in- 
vited, and within a few minutes the Supe- 
rior in charge of the orphanage made her 
appearance. She was a good-natured, gen- 
tle, and intelligent looking woman, and 
Katy’s confidence was easily won on first 
acquaintance. 

Mrs. Coleman briefly explained the object 
of her mission, and gave a succinct account 
of Katy’s life from infancy to the present 
date. 

“You wish to leave your little daughter 
with us, do you, Mrs. Coleman?” 

“Yes, Mother, for I could not feel satis- 
fied with her anywhere else while I am 
away. My means are too limited for me to 
place her in a boarding-school, and here I 


12 


The Tragedy of Baden 


understand you teach your children, as well 
as care for them in all other particulars. ’ 1 

“Yes,” replied the Superior, “we try to 
fill the parents ’ place as nearly as we can. * 1 

“Katy has been tenderly raised,” re- 
marked Mrs. Coleman, “and never in all 
her life heard a harsh word spoken by any 
one. It is my intention to visit Europe, for 
maybe three or four years, and endeavor 
to perfect myself in voice culture, and 
thereby earn means enough to return and 
live comfortably with my child for the bal- 
ance of my days.” 

“That is very commendable in you, I 
think,” replied the Superior, “and while 
you are away we will endeavor to cultivate 
Katy in both vocal and instrumental 
music, ourselves.” 

“Has your daughter been christened?” 
inquired the Superior. 

“Yes, in her father’s faith,” replied Mrs. 
Coleman, “which is different from yours, 
Sister; and in this respect I would prefer 
Kate to remain as he intended her. But 
when she grows older and can think for 
herself she may be at liberty to select what 
creed she pleases, as, after all, religion is 
a matter of conscience, and it is perhaps 
better to leave such matters to that invisi- 


The Tragedy of Baden 


13 


ble teacher, rather than to coerce the soul 
against its natural and honest convic- 
tions.” 

4 4 Very well,” replied the Superior, 4 4 we 
will endeavor to carry out your wishes, and 
I will only endeavor to inculcate in her the 
golden principles of all true characters — 
honesty, truth, and morality. After all,” 
added the Superior , 4 4 we are only traveling 
toward the same goal, though perhaps on 
different roads.” 

4 4 And now, Sister,” added Mrs. Cole- 
man, after a moment’s meditation, 44 I 
would make another request of you, and one 
of much importance to both my child and 
to myself. Should accident of any kind 
overtake me, so as to render it impossible 
for me to return, or if I do not appear at 
the end of five years, then you may reason- 
ably infer that something has occurred to 
prevent my ever returning, and it would be 
my wish that Katy should be placed with 
some good family where she might become 
independent, and where she would be en- 
abled to earn an honest livelihood. I would 
dislike to think that my child would be for- 
ever cloistered in an asylum all her life* 
so, for the reasons stated, secure for her 
a good home with some respectable family, 
if I do not return to claim her at the end 


14 


The Tragedy of Baden 


of five more years. And now, Sister, I be- 
lieve I have mentioned all the salient points 
I desired to speak about, and if you will 
take charge of her for me upon the condi- 
tions just mentioned, I will return with my 
child in the morning and leave her with 
you.” 

“I will do all in my power to carry out 
your wishes, Mrs. Coleman,” replied the 
Superior; “and, moreover, I will take her 
under my special protection for you, while 
you are away.” 

While this conversation was taking place, 
Katy, who had been led off by one of the 
Sisters of the order, was enjoying herself 
with children of her age, in another portion 
of the building, and when found by her 
mother she seemed to be immensely inter- 
ested in some little children’s sport going 
on, and besides, she was the recipient of an 
orange, an apple, and a pocketful of candy. 
The child indeed was loth to leave her com- 
panions when her parent called her, a cir- 
cumstance which the mother noted with 
glistening eyes. 

On the following morning Mrs. Coleman 
and Katy, with the latter’s little trunk, ar- 
rived at the orphanage, and the innocent 
child, with her golden curls and her eyes 
of blue, was formally transferred to the 


The Tragedy of Baden 


15 


Sisters of that institution for safe-keeping, 
until her mother’s return. 

Mrs. Coleman bade her child an affec- 
tionate adieu, and with promises of a re- 
turn at some future day, when the two 
would live happily together in each other’s 
love, turned away to face the trials of a 
new and untried vocation, for the single 
purpose of bettering hers and the financial 
condition of her daughter. 

That evening Mrs. Coleman started for 
New York, in order to take a steamer bound 
for some European port, and Katy turned 
in with her new acquaintances, to mix and 
mingle with them for the next five years. 

Many weeks passed by before a word of 
intelligence was received from the mother, 
when finally, late in the year of 1865, a let- 
ter was received at the orphanage, inform- 
ing Katy of her mother’s location in Milan, 
Italy. 

“I have made a start at the work before 
me,” she wrote, “but find it difficult to mas- 
ter the language that is spoken here. 
Everything is in Italian; and before I can 
proceed with my musical studies, I find it 
necessary to acquire a perfect knowledge 
of the language spoken all around me.” 

Katy was put to school and her teachers 
found her to be an apt and earnest scholar. 


16 


The Tragedy of Baden 


She was amiable, and her teachers loved 
her ; she was pretty and attractive, and her 
companions chose her as the leader of their 
girlish circles. As Katy, like her mother, 
possessed a natural talent for music, she 
soon became a prominent figure in her sing- 
ing class, and was early given a conspicu- 
ous part in the little exhibitions that were 
given now and then at the orphanage. 

Thus passed away the months and the 
years, and Katy grew strong and robust 
with advancing time. 

Mrs. Coleman wrote about once a month 
to the Superior of the orphanage, and 
whenever she could spare a portion of her 
means she always shared it with her child. 

The girl grew from childhood into young 
womanhood. Her acquaintances, beyond 
her little circle of orphan children around 
her, were very few, and of the outside 
world she knew nothing. Men, to her, were 
pictured as the stronger class; things to 
be shunned; things rarely to be spoken of 
and never to be spoken to. For what rea- 
sons, she never was informed. ‘ ‘It must be 
right, or else I never would have been 
warned against them. ’ ’ 

There were other bright children in the 
institution besides Kate Coleman; some of 
them were motherless, others fatherless; 


The Tragedy of Baden 


17 


some were both. Some bore the stamp of 
refinement on their faces; others did not. 
The majority of them were orphans, and 
the sword of sorrow had at some time in 
their early lives pierced their little hearts. 

Noble souls provided for their wants, 
and generous men and women, in and out 
of Baden, never failed to respond when 
called on by the Sisters for some contribu- 
tion for these little ones. 

Often on Sunday afternoons visitors 
came to see the children and to inspect the 
institution. Some called with hearts beam- 
ing with sympathy for the friendless or- 
phans, and laid gifts before them; others 
called through curiosity only; while possi- 
bly a few with sinister faces on them called 
for other purposes. 

At the age of fourteen Katy received a 
letter from her mother stating that she had 
weathered the ordeal of her life. 

“I can speak the Italian language now, 
and have been singing in light concerts ; but 
at what expense! My health has failed; 
my means are exhausted, and but for occa- 
sional sewing for some respectable families 
I would long since have been stranded. I 
am promised a subordinate part with an 
opera company now being organized, 
which, if I secure, will at least afford me 


18 


The Tragedy of Baden 


bread. If I fail, however, in securing the 
position, then the Lord only knows what 
will become of me.” 

This was the last letter Katy ever re- 
ceived from her mother, and after waiting 
a year for a reply to her answer, without 
response, she began to think of the request 
made by her mother before the parting. 

“I must face the world; I must go out 
and seek a home amongst strangers. I must 
begin to earn an honorable existence for 
myself. But where can I find a home ? Who 
will care to give me occupation V 1 Thus 
queried the artless child at the orphanage. 

She was now fifteen years old; strong, 
beautiful, and well developed for her age. 
Kate could play and sing, and even had a 
fair knowledge of the culinary art. Be- 
sides, she was neat and tidy ; unusually at- 
tractive; and withal, a good little house- 
keeper. Yet she knew nothing of the world, 
nothing of its pitfalls. This knowledge was 
reserved for her to learn later. Fortified 
by a sublime character and a thorough 
training, she was now about to embark 
upon an unknown sea; to enter the battle 
of life in a selfish and an unknown world, 
without a guide. 

They had talked the matter over between 
them — Kate and the Superior of the asy- 


The Tragedy of Baden 19 

lum — and Mrs. Coleman’s request was re- 
membered. 

She was believed by this time to be dead. 
1 ‘Were it otherwise, my mother would long 
since have answered my letters. She is 
dead ; and I can never see her face again, 
except in memory.’ ’ She said to the Supe- 
rior, “I have now no friend for counsel and 
advice, except yourself. I am old enough 
to work and make an honest living. It was 
my mother’s last wish expressed as she was 
leaving; and now, Mother, if you can find 
me a good home I will go out and battle 
for a living.” 


CHAPTER II 


One afternoon, early in the month of 
January, when the sun shone out with un- 
usual warmth and brightness for the sea- 
son, a carriage drove up to the door of the 
orphanage, and a woman, well dressed and 
attractive, so far as apparel could make 
her, alighted and called for the Superior in 
charge of the asylum. 

“My name is Mrs. King, Sister,” she an- 
nounced, “and I have called to inquire if 
you could not furnish me with a girl ; some 
good and attractive child, whom I could 
adopt as my own, and whom I could furnish 
with a good and comfortable home. My 
husband and myself have no children of 
our own, and we feel greatly disposed to 
adopt and raise a child whom we might call 
ours, and treat as such. We both under- 
stand that it is your custom, now and then, 
to place out your girls as they grow up, 
and I have called this afternoon in search 
of one whom you could recommend in every 
respect as being worthy of the love and con- 
20 


The Tragedy of Baden 21 

fidence of an honest and respectable cou- 
ple.’ ’ 

“Mrs. King,” replied the Superior, “we 
do, under certain conditions, place our chil- 
dren out when they become old enough to 
be self-sustaining, and where we can be well 
assured as to the character and standing of 
the parties who wish to adopt and properly 
provide for them. In this respect we are 
obliged to be very particular, and before 
we place out our children we have to re- 
ceive satisfactory recommendations about 
those we entrust them to. We have a few 
girls at present,” continued the Mother Su- 
perior, “whom we might place, if the prop- 
er credentials and recommendations were 
furnished; but as I just remarked, these 
must be supplied in advance ; and promises 
of good care and treatment must be made 
before we can dispose of our children to 
strangers . 9 9 

“Your terms are proper,” replied Mrs. 
King, “and as for the promises of treat- 
ment you exact, we would only be too glad 
to state that whoever you might entrust to 
our care would be treated as a natural 
child, and be provided for as such. Now 
what kind of references would you require, 
before disposing of your girls?” 

“Only first-class ones,” responded the 


22 


The Tragedy of Baden 


Sister. ‘ 1 Bring ns the recommendations of 
some two or three well-known personages 
of high standing, and we would be pleased 
to take up this matter with you. We have 
the children to dispose of, and when you 
present the proper recommendations you 
may make your own selection. May I ask, ’ ’ 
she continued, ‘ 4 where you reside, and what 
occupation does your husband follow ?” 

“We live in the country when at home, 
Sister; and my husband is a plain, honest 
farmer. Letters to reach us should be di- 
rected to Bristol, near which place we re- 
side. We travel at times, and are well 
known to many of the best persons in the 
State. In fact, my husband does business 
with many of the leading citizens of this 
place, and could bring you any recom- 
mendation you might desire from many of 
them. Now, if an indorsement from such 
persons as your Mayor and the Bishop of 
this diocese would suffice, I could easily ob- 
tain them, as my husband and myself are 
well known to both of them,” responded 
Mrs. King, with emphasis. 

“Testimonials from these two persons, 
Mrs. King, would be sufficient, and when 
you present them I will furnish you with 
a good, honest, and industrious girl.” 

That night Kate and the Mother Supe- 


The Tragedy of Baden 


23 


rior walked in the moonlight, in the orphan- 
age grounds, with arms around each other, 
while Mrs. King at home was busily en- 
gaged in getting up the required recom- 
mendations from the Mayor and the Bishop 
of Baden. 

“ Mother,’ ’ said Katy, “ won’t it look 
queer for me to be managing a farmer’s 
home for him. Think of me milking the 
cows; getting the breakfast ready, and 
playing the farmer’s daughter. It’s my 
ideal of a happy life, Mother,” said the 
guileless girl, as she tossed back a handful 
of golden curls over her shoulder. 

“And, Katy, best of all,” said the 
Mother, “you will be beyond the tempta- 
tions of the world, while earning a quiet 
and comfortable home.” 

“What are they, Mother? What are 
temptations of the world? Did I ever hear 
of them?” 

“No, dear, never ! But the outside world 
is very different from the convent life you 
have been leading for the last five years; 
and I want to put you on your guard before 
leaving here. Beware of intimacy with 
others ; beware of bad compny ; and above 
all, beware of flattery. Bemember your 
training, and in case of any doubt let your 
conscience be your guide. Ask yourself 


24 


The Tragedy of Baden 


the question, ‘Is it right?’ and if the reply 
is no, turn your back on any act or thought 
that may confront you.” 

“Mother, did Mrs. King appear pleasant 
and attractive?” 

“Well, child, we cannot judge people in 
this world by their appearances. False- 
hood lurks in many faces; often the be- 
nignly featured are but counterfeits; and 
the frigid and repellant looking sometimes 
angels in disguise. However, testimonials 
weigh more with me than appearances ; and 
if Mrs. King’s are satisfactory, then, my 
darling, I expect I will have to give you 
up.” 

“Mother, will you come to see me in my 
new home? That is, if I go away to be a 
farmer’s daughter?” 

“I could not promise to do so, Katy, as 
my duties compel me to remain with my lit- 
tle ones all the time ; but you can come here 
from time to time, and always find a wel- 
come and a home at Baden Orphanage.” 

They walked up and down on the long 
gallery fronting the orphan asylum; while 
the little ones played on the lawn in the 
moonlight, in front of the house, with the 
motherly eye of the kind-hearted Sister 
upon them. 

“Now, Kate, bear in mind, dear, all that 


The Tragedy of Baden 


25 


I have told you; and especially of flattery 
from either young or old men, since more 
evil lurks under that mask than under any 
other disguise the devil employs. ’ ’ 

“Why, are they that dangerous, moth- 
er?” 

“Yes, child, and oftentimes more. Under 
no circumstances let any of them kiss you.” 

“Why, Mother, were you never kissed, 
when a girl?” asked Katy, in her inno- 
cence. 

“That’s not the question, dear. I am the 
interrogator now, not you . 7 9 

“Mother, were you ever engaged?” 

“My child, are you crazy to ask such 
nonsense ? 7 9 

“No, but I heard a girl say you were here 
because no one would marry you in the 
world. Is that so, Mother?” 

“Katy, it is not so, and since you have 
brought the subject up so flatly I will an- 
swer you. I was engaged once, but my 
affianced died, and with his death went all 
my love for earthly objects. His death 
drove me to a religious life, as death has 
driven others.” 

“How sad, Mother!” exclaimed Katy. 
“But oh! would it not be nice if you were 
married, Mother, and I was living with 
you? I would do all your work, and you 


26 


The Tragedy of Baden 


would let me love you. You know, I have 
no one on earth now to love. I am an 
orphan. You do not know how lonesome 
it makes me feel at times. I see other chil- 
dren with mammas and papas to love them, 
while I have none. Why is this, Mother V 9 
“My darling child, as long as life lasts 
I will love you, and you must look to me 
as to a natural mother ; and in any hour of 
distress come to me, and I will be your 
mother and you will be my child. ’ 9 

On the following afternoon the same car- 
riage and occupant arrived at the orphan- 
age that had called there the day before. 
Mrs. King, dressed in black, threw back 
her veil as she entered the building and 
called again for the Mother Superior. 

“ Madam/ ’ she exclaimed, as the latter 
appeared, “had time afforded me the op- 
portunity I could have secured you many 
more testimonials of our standing; these, 
however, I hope will be sufficient, as they 
have been furnished us by the best known 
and most respectable people in this com- 
munity.’ 9 Saying which, Mrs. King pre- 
sented two short testimonials, one from no 
less a personage than the Mayor, and the 
other from the Rt. Rev. Bishop of Baden, 
Each spoke in praise of the family in ques- 
tion, and each commended the bearer to the 


The Tragedy of Baden 27 

confidence of all concerned in the King 
family. 

“Your recommendations are entirely 
satisfactory, and as you promise faithfully 
to bring up the child under the proper in- 
fluences, and provide for her as though she 
were your own, I will call the one I have in 
mind for you, and if the liking is mutual, 
I will permit you to take her along . 9 9 Say- 
ing this the Superior excused herself for 
a moment, in order to bring in the girl. 

“Katy,” exclaimed the Superior, “this 
is Mrs. King, the lady who wishes to give 
you a home, and who promises to care for 
you just as she would for her own. Would 
you like to go with her f 9 9 

Mrs. King had arisen when Kate entered, 
and offered her hand to the girl. The latter 
acknowledged the salutation with some de- 
gree of reserve; for while Katy was ex- 
ceedingly anxious to be about some honor- 
able and independent mission in the world, 
she was not disposed to jump at such offers 
unless accompanied with some exterior at- 
traction. In this instance there was none 
whatever. 

Mrs. King was not the possessor of an at- 
tractive face; on the contrary, she carried 
an uninviting one. Nor were her manners 


28 


The Tragedy of Baden 


captivating, but rather the reverse. She 
was repellant. However, thought Katy, her 
credentials are excellent, and who knows 
that behind her hardened features there 
may be a warm and tender heart. 

4 ‘I wish to secure a girl of your age,” 
said the visitor, “who can assist me about 
my house, and at the same time be a mem- 
ber of my family. I can teach you in a 
short time how to become independent, and 
we can travel about and see the larger cities 
of the Eastern States. I will provide you 
with clothing, food, and shelter, and be- 
sides what change you may need from time 
to time in order to make your own pur- 
chases.” 

“I will go with you,” said Katy, “and 
if you will do what you now promise, I will 
bind myself to stay with you for two 
years.” 

Articles of agreement were then drawn 
up between them and duly signed, and soon 
Katy was riding off with her purchaser, 
under a two years ’ promise of servitude. 

It had been many years since Kate had 
ridden in so pretentious a vehicle, and the 
exhilaration produced by her stylish con- 
veyance caused her spirits to rise, and her 
girlish curiosity tempted her to ask ques- 
tions. 


The Tragedy of Baden 29 

u Dowe go to the country ?” inquired the 
orphan. 

“Not now,” replied Mrs. King, “but 
later we may . 9 9 

“What have you been doing with your- 
self,” inquired Mrs. King, “ever since 
you’ve been in that orphanage?” 

The question, and more particularly the 
manner in which it was addressed, occurred 
to Katy as being a little abrupt, but she 
placed a charitable construction upon the 
motives prompting it, and answered that 
she had been doing a little of almost every- 
thing a girl of her age could do, with the 
object in view of helping the Sisters about 
the place. She sewed; sometimes cooked; 
often waited on the table ; looked after the 
younger children, and often taught them. 
Besides this, she sang in the choir, and 
played on the piano at exhibitions. 

“Why, you ought to make an all-round 
handy girl about the place, ” remarked Mrs. 
King. 

“Did you ever go a-begging?” 

“Never in my life,” replied Katy. 

“Where are your people?” asked Mrs. 
King. 

“Dead, I suppose,” answered the girl 
sadly. 


30 


The Tragedy of Baden 


“You suppose? Don’t you know they 
are dead?” asked the lady. 

“I know that my father is dead, for I 
have heard my mother say that he was 
killed unjustly by some bad man, many 
years ago.” 

“Was your father Frank Coleman?” 
asked the lady earnestly. 

“His first name was Frank,” answered 
Katy. ‘ ‘ Did you know him ? ’ ’ 

“Well, I heard something of that affair 
at the time, but I was under the impression 
that the other man was acting in self-de- 
fense,” said Mrs. King. “It was a shoot- 
ing scrape, I believe , 9 9 she continued, * 1 and 
the courts allowed that your father was 
the aggressor.” 

“All I know about the case,” said Katy, 
“is what my mother told me years ago; 
and I remember her telling me it was a 
base and unjustifiable murder.” 

“Well, that would naturally be her way 
of looking at it, being as she was the wid- 
ow; but the courts are nearly always right 
after they get through sifting those cases ; 
so you needn’t believe all the things you 
hear about people in this world. Who was 
it that killed your father?” asked Mrs. 
King. 

“I never heard his name, or if I ever did, 


The Tragedy of Baden 


31 


I do not recollect it now,” replied the girl. 

“And what became of yonr mother?” 

“She went to Europe shortly after fa- 
ther^ death, and must have died there over 
a year ago.” 

“Then you are a sure enough orphan, 
aren’t you?” 

“Yes,” replied Kate, “as much so as 
any we left at the orphanage . 9 9 

“Then you will take my name, being as 
you are now my adopted daughter, and 
while with me you will be known as Katy 
King; how does that strike you?” 

“I suppose,” answered Kate, “it will 
do as well as any other.” 

Mrs. Kin g had obtained now about all 
the information she desired, and she called 
to the driver to take her to number 750 Pine 
avenue. 

“Now, as we are nearly home I will tell 
you something of your duties, and of what 
will be expected of you. In the first place, 
I do not believe in my daughter’s receiving 
beaux and other trifling visitors, until she 
is older than you are. So we will cut out 
all that; and, besides, letter-writing is an 
objectionable thing at your age. I guess 
the Sisters told you that, didn’t they?” 

“No,” said Katy, “but they warned me 
on other subjects.” 


32 


The Tragedy of Baden 


“They did, hey! did they? Well, you 
are my daughter now, and you must do as 
I tell you. Do you understand ?” 

“I certainly do,” replied Kate. 

“Now, we are going to treat you right, 
but we will expect you to work.” 

“I have been doing that for the past five 
years,” remarked the girl. 

“Yes, but that was all parlor work , 9 9 said 
Mrs. King. “I want you to understand 
money-making work. I want you to forget 
all those convent things, and take up with 
something practical. 

“Now, I want to tell you before we get 
home something of my husband. He is a 
good man, and a good Christian, and is 
very charitable; but at times he will get 
out o 9 sorts, like all other men, and say 
things he ought not to say. You must never 
ask him anything about his business af- 
fairs. And when he is cross or out of sorts 
you just go in your room and lock your 
door, as I do, and never mind his riling or 
what he says to you. 

‘ ‘ Next, we don ’t believe in any gadding. ’ 9 

“In what?” inquired Kate. 

“Gadding! don’t you know what gad- 
ding is?” 

“No, what is it?” 

“Why, running here and there, prying 


The Tragedy of Baden 


33 


into other people’s business. You will stay 
in most of the time and try and improve 
yourself, and when you go out I must know 
all about it.” 

Kate thought her regulations rather se- 
vere, but said to herself, “Mrs. King may 
be right; at least I have been cautioned 
along these lines before by those I know 
were right.” 

“All right, Mrs. King,” she answered, 
“I will stay in and improve my time, and 
when Mr. King gets into one of his spells, 
I will just go and lock myself up as you 
suggest. ’ ’ 

They now arrived at the number called 
for on Pine street, and Katy was directed 
into a small two-story building of five or 
six rooms, around which extended a high 
and dismal looking board fence. 

“Well,” said she to herself, “this is not 
a very attractive invitation into the new 
world, but it is in fair keeping, I suppose, 
with the owner. This must be the city villa, 
while we stay in town during the winter 
months and spend our money.” 

“Follow me now,” directed Mrs. King, 
“and I will show you your room.” 

Had the residence itself been unattrac- 
tive from a casual inspection of the out- 
side, the interior was none the less inviting. 


34 


The Tragedy of Baden 


Katy’s was a small and rudely furnished 
room in the L. 

‘ 4 Here is your sleeping-place, ’ ’ said the 
lady, “and downstairs is the kitchen, and 
next to it is the dining-room. Now put on 
your working clothes, and let me see what 
you know about cooking. * ’ 

The girl did as instructed, and soon had 
a small fire blazing in the antiquated stove. 

“Now, you go in there and set that table 
for two. He won’t be in until late, as he 
has to work pretty late these times, and 
then don’t often get much for it.” 

Between the two, in a short time, a frugal 
meal of tea and buttered toast was served, 
and the maid and mistress sat down to- 
gether to partake of it. 

“Will Mr. King be home for his sup- 
per?” was asked. 

“If he does he can look out for himself,” 
was the reply. “You be down by six in 
the morning and have your fire ready, and 
I will show you what to cook.” 

That night Kate lay awake for some 
time after retiring ; awake and wondering ; 
wondering what it all meant, and contrast- 
ing the sharp differences between her pres- 
ent little barefloored cell with the cozy dor- 
mitory of the orphanage she had occupied 
the night before. 


CHAPTER III 


King Coon had been in business on his 
own account for several years ; first at one 
place, and then at another, as fortune 
seemed to favor him. Where he originated 
it is difficult to state accurately. There is 
a vague suspicion of Liverpool, in the early 
forties. He never told his family affairs 
to any one, and it is doubtful if even his 
wife ever knew where he came from. He 
had lived both in New York and in New 
Orleans at different times, and was chased 
out of both places by the police on account 
of vague and repeated infractions of the 
law and a possibility of the penitentiary. 

He came to Baden soon after the civil 
war, believing it to be a field of great pos- 
sibilities for the prosecution of his nefa- 
rious calling. Wherever he had hitherto 
resided he had gotten into trouble, and had 
been compelled by various police authori- 
ties to “move on.” Even after he landed 
in Baden he had been a target of suspicion, 
and many an unproved crime had been laid 
at the door of old King Coon’s workshop, 


36 


The Tragedy of Baden 


exhausted for want of proof to send him 
to the penitentiary. 

Coon had been on trial for his life on two 
occasions, but had escaped conviction each 
time owing to the technicalities of the law, 
and now, emboldened by his several es- 
capes from justice, he began to think that 
he possessed a charmed life, and this de- 
lusion made him more unscrupulous than 
ever. 

For many years past he had been en- 
gaged in the profession of gambling, and 
was always looked upon as a suspicious 
character. Even his gambling companions 
themselves had eyed him with lowered eye- 
brows, and he was always regarded by them 
as a man to be let alone when angry. In 
his travels through life he had picked up 
his wife at some way station, and found 
her congenial and fully in sympathy with 
the outlawed life he was leading. She mar- 
ried him under the delusion that his family 
name was King, when in reality it was 
Coon; but for social reasons he announced 
himself as King and dropped his gen- 
ealogy. 

Katy set about performing the domestic 
duties assigned to her, wondering at the 
peculiarities of her new relations, yet 
cheerful with the hope that the life she had 


The Tragedy of Baden 


37 


just entered would lead to good results 
in the near future. “They are strange 
farmers,’ ’ she thought, “but then this is 
only temporary, and with the return of 
spring we will probably all go to our coun- 
try home . 9 9 

She had been there a week, and as yet 
had never seen Mr. King, except at a dis- 
tance, when he was departing from the 
house in the afternoons. He usually 
reached home about three in the morning 
and went to his work, as he called it, in the 
evenings ; and she never for a moment sus- 
pected that he was pursuing the life of a 
gambler instead of the occupation of an 
honest tradesman. King had never met 
her. He had questioned his wife as to who 
she was and where she came from. Mrs. 
King had told him where she obtained her, 
and that her name was Katy Goldman. 

“Well, you train her,” said he to his 
wife, “for we will soon have some new 
work for her to do.” 

One afternoon he met Kate face to face 
in the building. 

“You are the new girl, I believe, that 
Mrs. King has brought here.” 

“Yes, sir,” she replied, “lam doing the 
housework for your wife.” 

He passed on, and Katy saw no more in 


38 


The Tragedy of Baden 


his bleared features to attract her admira- 
tion than she had seen in his wife’s. Her 
life thenceforth became routine and monot- 
onous. She had no worthy associates, was 
allowed no visitors, nor could she even 
write to her only friends at the orphanage. 
Nor were there any books about the place 
from which she could imbibe a moment’s 
pleasure. Only an almanac, some two years 
old, lay at her command, and this she soon 
had memorized. Sometimes she leaned 
from her window and gazed wistfully out 
into the streets below, and into the yards of 
the neighbors. This too soon became mo- 
notonous, and she sewed, stitched, and 
darned on anything handed to her, finding 
it an actual amusement instead of a dreary 
occupation to do so. 

Mrs. King was unsocial, sordid, and 
fault-finding. 

‘ 1 Can’t you sing any?” she inquired. 

“Yes, but I did not know whether you 
would allow me to do so or not,” replied 
the girl. 

“Well, if you don’t holler too loud you 
can try your voice sometimes. ’ ’ And Katy 
would softly breathe out her pure young 
spirit now and then in some sad and gentle 
sonnet she had learned at the orphanage. 
She scrubbed and cooked, waited on the 


The Tragedy of Baden 


39 


table, and sewed as a pastime, and won- 
dered if this was the lot of all young girls 
who were starting out in life. 

One night King came in late as usual, and 
was under the influence of liquor. He was 
loud and abusive, and much of his brutal 
conversation could be heard by the girl. 
Then blows followed, and she heard him 
order his wife out of his room. 

‘ ‘ Take this and go!” he cried in a loud 
voice. 

Kate secured her door, and on the fol- 
lowing morning Mrs. King appeared for 
her breakfast with a black and swollen eye. 

‘ ‘ My ! but that new father of mine must 
be a Tartar,” thought Kate. “But she 
told me he had his spells at times, and I 
suppose this must be one of them. What a 
contrast between this and my late peaceful 
home with the orphans!” Months of this 
life passed by, and Katy began to entertain 
doubts. “Can they be the good people so 
highly recommended? Can they be farmers 
at all? Here have I been for six months, 
and have seen no evidences of either. Life 
has not the sunshine I expected to find in 
it. There must be some mistake. Would 
that I could alter my situation ; but how can 
I do it? They have my written agreement 
to stay with them for two years, and not 


40 


The Tragedy of Baden 


one-half of that time has yet passed. If I 
could only reach the orphanage again; if 
my mother was only alive ! But no ! these 
are impossibilities. Both are beyond my 
reach now, and I must wait and bear my 
imprisonment, and make the best of it.” 

One night it rained, and as usual Mr. 
King came in late, or rather very early in 
the morning. That afternoon he called his 
wife. 

“Here, take these shoes of mine and 
make that girl shine them up.” The wife 
brought them to Katy and commanded her 
to clean them. 

4 4 Whom for ? ’ ’ asked the girl. 

4 4 For King, of course,” was the reply; 
4 4 who do you suppose they belong to?” 

4 4 Then I refuse to touch them; I will 
shine no man’s shoes on earth,” answered 
Kate. 

Mrs. King let the brogans drop from her 
hand in astonishment, and stared at the de- 
fiant girl. 

“What, do you rebel?” she exclaimed. 

“I certainly do,” said the girl with em- 
phasis. 

4 4 Do you know what he would do with 
you if he heard you? He would kill you, 
or choke you to death,” said the wife. 


The Tragedy of Baden 


41 


“He may do both if he wants to, but I 
am not going to shine his shoes.’ ’ 

“You shall do it!” said Mrs. King. 

“I will not,” said Kate, stamping her 
little foot on the floor, and shooting a dart 
of defiance into the eyes of her adopted 
mother, that carried conviction with it. 

“Didn’t you promise to obey me when 
you came here for a home?” 

“No, I did not.” 

“Didn’t you promise to do all my house- 
hold work for me?” 

“Yes, but such degrading service is not 
household work, and before I would sully 
my hands on such a job I would jump out 
of that window.” 

“What in the hell is all this racket 
about?” inquired King, coming now to 
Katy ’s room half dressed. 

“I am lecturing this girl about some of 
her work,” replied his wife. 

“If those shoes ain’t shined in five min- 
utes I will lecture your neck ; now get about 
it!” shouted King to his wife as he turned 
and walked off. 

‘ ‘ Shut your door ! I will shine them my- 
self,” said Mrs. King. “You are no better 
than I. You’ve got too much ginger in you 
for me, anyhow, and I will have to take 
some of it out.” 


42 


The Tragedy of Baden 


“I am willing to do all your regular 
household work, but I will clean no shoes 
for either you or him,” answered Kate. 

Mrs. King did the work herself, and it 
was done on time. This little incident 
caused Kate to do some additional think- 
ing. 

“They are certainly a wonderful pair,” 
she murmured, “the like of whom I never 
heard of in my life — so brusque, so unre- 
fined; but then maybe all the farmers are 
that way. My first year’s service is nearly 
out, and I expect I can stand it a little 
longer.” 

Poor girl, she little dreamed of the serv- 
ice that was in store for her. One day Mrs. 
King informed her adopted daughter that 
they were going to move. “And you will 
go along,” said she, “and have a little dif- 
ferent job to perform.” 

“When and where?” asked Kate. 

“Down in the town somewhere, and 
about the first of the year. Now this is all 
you are going to know, so don’t let it turn 
your head, but go on and do your work like 
before.” 

The idea of any change from the dreary 
spot on the hill into town was a ray of joy 
through the saddened heart of the or- 
phan girl. Nothing could be gloomier 


The Tragedy of Baden 


43 


than her present surroundings. Any change 
must be for the better. ‘ ‘ They are awfully 
severe on me, but I can not say I have ever 
detected anything dishonorable about them; 
only a plain, brusque, honest farmer and 
his honest wife.” 

Winter came on, and with it came Kate ’s 
sixteenth birthday. She enjoyed it alone; 
the first sad anniversary in her life. Here- 
tofore, she had always been remembered on 
that day; even during infancy by her dar- 
ling mother, whom she now saw plainer 
than ever in her youthful memory. While 
at the orphanage her anniversary never 
passed without some token of love from the 
Superior. It was so different now. Child- 
hood had glided into the past, and lovely 
womanhood had come to take its place. As 
she sat in her little room that night gazing 
out on the moonlight and silent cottages 
around her, tears came to her eyes, and 
sobbing for the first time during her servi- 
tude, she threw herself upon her little white 
coverlid and sobbed herself to sleep. 

Christmas time came; that joyful period 
for every soul on earth. But it brought no 
pleasures for Kate. She could hear the 
mirth on the outside, but within her nar- 
row sphere all was desolate. The family 
dined together on that day; something 


44 


The Tragedy of Baden 


they rarely ever did, and there was beer 
for dinner. The girl was asked to drink 
with her adopted parents, bnt she declined. 

“Look here,” said Coon, gruffly, “you 
must get out of that.” 

“I never drank in my life,” she replied. 

“Well, there’s a great many other things 
I expect you never did in your life that 
you will have to take to sooner or later.” 
The rest drank and grew red in the face 
and boisterous, the child-woman refraining 
and looking on in disgust. The great event 
in the Coon family was now at hand. They 
were about to launch into a new and fasci- 
nating business. King Coon thought there 
could be much money made in it if con- 
ducted according to his ideas; more than 
at gambling alone. He had gotten hold of 
a few hundred dollars, and had rented and 
fixed up a place downtown. The wife and 
adopted child were to help in their respec- 
tive capacities, and were to live and sleep 
in rooms above the business department. 
The move was hailed with secret pleasure 
by the girl. It was a change. It was better 
than dreary solitude. 

“I will see new faces,” said she to her- 
self. “I will hear new sounds. My term 
of bondage lacks now but ten months to 


The Tragedy of Baden 


45 


reach its ending, and I can stand it. The 
move cannot prove worse than the exist- 
ence here.” 

One Saturday morning they all moved off 
the hill and entered their new abode in the 
thickest part of Baden. It was not the 
choicest portion of the city, but rather the 
reverse. Great numbers of men, women, 
and children passed up and down the street, 
and the jargon of busy life was in striking 
contrast with the cemetery solitude of 
Baden’s suburbs. 

The new house was a two-story building 
with the living rooms above and the work- 
ing rooms below. The Coon family entered 
the premises through the alley gate, and 
went upstairs. Men moved the furniture 
and hastily put it together and in proper 
place. When all this had been accomplished 
the head of the family directed the women 
to come down with him and look at his en- 
terprise. On the ground floor there were 
a vacant room or two in the rear, in which 
were a few cots with a blanket apiece 
spread out over them. Likewise, there were 
a few new chairs and tables, and these 
rooms seemed to be in readiness for lodg- 
ing occupants. 

“Now come in here,” he directed, “and 
see the business part,” saying which he 


46 The Tragedy of Baden 

opened a connecting door and the trio en- 
tered. 

Katy’s eyes had never beheld such a 
place in her life. There in silence and 
alone, before her, stood all the parapher- 
nalia of a regular bar-room. There was the 
bar itself; the counter; the bottles filled 
with different brands of liquors ; cigars and 
tobacco at the side; pictures on the wall of 
athletes sparring with each other and jock- 
eys preparing to race bobtailed nags ; 
tables and chairs in the center of the room, 
and pretty glasses tinted in various colors 
and of different shapes. There were beer 
and brandy, gin and whiskey, bitters, 
liquors and other brands of intoxicants in 
apparently inexhaustible quantities. The 
large mirror in the background attracted 
Katy’s attention, and she stood before it 
and gazed at her reflection for fully a min- 
ute. She had not seen her image for over 
a year, and she scanned it closely. In the 
rear of the saloon, for such it was, there 
stood a second-hand piano. 

“Go there,” said Coon to Katy, “and 
make some music.’ ’ 

She did as commanded ; seated herself at 
the instrument; ran over the keys and be- 
gan playing what entered her mind the 
first. This was “Nearer, my God, to 


The Tragedy of Baden 


47 


Thee,” a piece of music just out which she 
had learned at the orphanage. 

“By Jupiter!” exclaimed Coon, “none 
of that sort here; we are not running a 
meeting-house. Get on to something 
lively. ’ ’ 

“I know nothing of such music,” re- 
sponded Kate. 

‘ ‘ Then you must catch on mighty quick , 9 9 
he commanded, “for I want fast music 
here . 9 9 

Then it flashed over Katy that she was 
to be the musician, and she shuddered for 
an instant. 

1 4 Here, ’ ’ said Coon, handing her a piece 
he had drawn from a selection of three 
for the piano, ‘ 6 play this one. ’ 9 

She glanced at it a moment and then 
struck up the reigning ballad of the day, 
‘ ‘ Champagne Charley , 9 9 much to the satis- 
faction of her master. 

“Now, that machine is for you to run,” 
said he, * ‘ and every spare minute in the day 
you can get, come down and work on that 
music until you know it well.” 

That night “The Crescent” was thrown 
open to the public, and free drinks, with 
music at the piano by some blear-eyed pro- 
fessor, were served to the people of Baden. 
The ladies remained upstairs that evening, 


48 


The Tragedy of Baden 


listening to the revelry below; Mrs. Coon 
delighted at the grandeur of the enterprise, 
and Katy dazed at the suddenness and 
enormity of the situation she found herself 
placed in. All through her life she had been 
taught that such places were immoral and 
houses to be dreaded and avoided. What 
would her dead parents say if they could 
rise and speak? What would her friends 
at the orphanage say, if they but knew it? 

Katy lay listening to the mirth and music 
underneath until it ceased, and she said to 
herself , 6 ‘ 1 will watch my opportunity, and 
if I notice anything that appears to me 
wrong, I will fly, regardless of my written 
word to stay here for two years.’ ’ 

With the succeeding silence after twelve 
she fell to sleep, and was only awakened 
late next morning by the rumbling of the 
wagons moving up and down the street in 
front of the saloon. 


CHAPTEK IV 


In the art of knavery King Coon had 
grown to be an adept. So often had he es- 
caped the clntches of the law ; so often had 
he gone unwhipped of justice when he mer- 
ited punishment, that he began to believe 
that he would be especially protected in 
any nefarious act he might commit. 

But he was adroit in his scheming, and 
went slowly when about to launch any crim- 
inal undertaking. With a good lawyer and 
a hundred-dollar bill, he argued, there was 
nothing to fear from any court in the coun- 
try. He had been in scrapes before, and 
he had the fullest confidence in the two 
agencies mentioned, and knew their value. 

“That fellow charges me two dollars an 
evening for his work at the organ,’ ’ a term 
he always applied to the piano, “and this 
means fifty dollars a month out of my pock- 
et. I can save this amount and I am going 
to do it. The girl can handle that machine 
just as well as that crank, and she shall 
do it. But, I must go slow at this business. 
She might kick if I push her. I will sugar 


50 


The Tragedy of Baden 


the way for her, and let that fellow out.” 
Kate was gradually prepared for her occu- 
pation. In the first place, she was surprised 
at being the recipient of two beautiful 
dresses — tailor-made and flashy. Besides 
these, attractive shoes and slippers and del- 
icate perfumery and underwear and rib- 
bons were lavished upon her, and she now 
began to think that the day of appreciation 
and kindness had begun to dawn upon her, 
and that life had reached the turning point 
where happiness would outweigh the sor- 
rows of her existence. 

About a month after the removal of the 
family to The Crescent she was invited by 
her adopted father to come daily to the sa- 
loon below and use the piano. ‘ ‘ Come in the 
early mornings, before the crowd assem- 
bles,” Mr. Coon said, “and practice an 
hour or two upon the pieces you will find 
on the machine. ’ 9 

Thus, by degrees, Katy found her hours 
of practice gradually undergoing an ad- 
vance from time to time, until by the end of 
her first month’s experience she found her- 
self entering the saloon at 8 p. m., instead 
of at 8 a. m. as in the beginning, for the 
purpose of furnishing music; and instead 
of two hours as at first, Mr. Coon required 
her to play now until twelve o’clock every 


The Tragedy of Baden 


51 


night, a period of four hours of continuous 
labor. Her performances soon told upon 
the cash receipts of the house. Men of all 
ages and grades of society flocked there at 
night to see the pretty girl and hear her 
music. Occasionally some of them, embold- 
ened by a glass or two of beer or something 
stronger, would crowd about her and fur- 
nish words to some of her selections ; some 
went further and invited her to drink. She 
had her orders, however, on this subject, 
and never yielded. 

“ Don’t you open your mouth to any of 
them, ,, she was told, “ except to answer 
questions. I’ll do all the talking neces- 
sary, if any has to be done, and you just go 
on and make your music, and keep your 
mouth shut.” 

During the second month of her vocation 
as pianist for The Crescent she was called 
on to diversify her duties. One evening a 
large crowd of men were sitting around the 
little tables in the saloon, drinking, smok- 
ing, playing cards and dominoes, and sing- 
ing senseless and discordant snatches of 
some half-remembered song. Coon went to 
the girl at the piano, and tapping her on 
the shoulder kindly, for him, remarked, 
“Come and help me a while, there’s a big 
crowd here, and I am short on waiters.” 


52 


The Tragedy of Baden 


The request was so different from all of 
his former harsh commands that it went to 
her heart in the nature of an appeal, and 
she left the piano and went to the bar for 
the drinks and instructions. 

“Here, serve these glasses to number six, 
and collect for them. ’ ’ 

There were four men at the table, play- 
ing dominoes ; and at the appearance of the 
beautiful girl so stylishly dressed and 
sweetly perfumed down went the game and 
up went the faces of the players. 

“Won’t you come and join us?” one in- 
quired. She gave him a frown and firmly 
declined. 

“Won’t you tell us your name?” She 
made no reply, but walked off with the 
change they had given her. Again and 
again she was called on to answer the or- 
ders for beer; for it had been a festival day 
in the town and the crowd at The Crescent 
was unusually large that night. Some- 
times it was a single glass of mysterious 
drink she handed around; sometimes as 
many as six glasses of beer upon a single 
waiter. Young men and old ones, and even 
mere boys whose parents thought them 
elsewhere, filled the room, and every eye 
stared on the girl wdth her golden hair 


The Tragedy of Baden 


53 


streaming down to her waist and clasped 
together by a silver band. 

King Coon looked on the picture before 
him with a complaisant smile. The patron- 
age was beyond his anticipation. His 
liquors were of the cheapest brands, and 
consequently of the most pernicious 
quality, but the greatest source of satisfac- 
tion to him was the consciousness of hav- 
ing completely broken in the girl to carry 
out his bar-room purposes. 

“ She’s a slick one,” he said to himself, 
‘ ‘ and will draw trade in my bar-room. Be- 
sides this, she will save me six hundred dol- 
lars a year, six thousand in ten, on that 
piano.” 

‘ 1 More beer!” was the cry up to mid- 
night and after; and when Kate retired 
that night she was too weary from her work 
to dwell on the incidents of her bar-room 
experience. She had now broken the ice; 
she knew her duties and went about them 
regularly and automatically every evening 
at eight o’clock. Little or no time was left 
for reflection. The lights, the music, the 
men and their hilarity came and went in a 
regular procession before her. To the first 
she closed her eyes, to the latter her ears, 
to the entire array her heart. 

“It’s a queer life I am leading; so totally 


54 


The Tragedy of Baden 


different from what I ever expected to en- 
ter. Who would have thought it during my 
mother’s life; yes, even during my happy 
stay at the orphanage. I now see through 
it all. I have been stolen for a life of servi- 
tude. They are counterfeits ; they are ques- 
tionable characters. * 1 

Coon had hired a boy to assist him be- 
hind the counter, but he was young and in- 
experienced in such business, and his mas- 
ter was severe toward him on the slightest 
provocation. The boy stayed with him just 
two months, when he threw up his job on 
the plea of leaving the city. Katy was not 
allowed to converse with him, nor with any 
others about the place except her adopted 
parents. She furnished the music at night, 
and at all times when it became necessary 
for her to do so she was required to serve 
drinks and lunch to the customers, and to 
circulate about amongst the visitors and so- 
licit orders from them. Sometimes every- 
thing went off without incident, at others 
it did not. Eemarks were often made by 
facetious young men which she did not un- 
derstand, and therefore did not relish. On 
one occasion she was called on to assist the 
proprietor in removing an intoxicated 
young man to the “cooling-room,” as they 
called it, at the rear of the bar-room. 


The Tragedy of Baden 


55 


“You will excuse me, sir, I will decline 
the job.” 

Coon grew furious at her refusal to per- 
form any service he exacted of her, but 
he suppressed his wrath at the time, and 
called in his wife to assist him. They 
dragged the boy across the sanded floor, 
as he was too limp to be carried along in 
any other fashion. His companion fled from 
the place at the sight of his partner’s con- 
dition, and left him to his fate. In remov- 
ing the young man his handkerchief rolled 
from his pocket and Kate picked it up. 
Having no better place to preserve it from 
loss, she slipped it on the inside of the waist 
of her dress and proceeded to wait on the 
customers, the boy at the bar drawing the 
beverages called for. Coon and his wife 
were an unusually long time in performing 
their work of disposing of the young man 
they had dragged across the floor, and on 
his return to the room the proprietor an- 
nounced that he had called for a carriage 
and sent the young man to his home. 

Kate was scored severely that night by 
Coon for her refusal to assist when called 
on by him to do so. She gave him to under- 
stand that she would do no such work for 
him, and that if ever he insisted on it, she 
would walk out of the building. 


56 


The Tragedy of Baden 


“You go if you dare!” he shouted, “and 
if I won’t land you in jail until you’d beg 
to get out. J ust you try it ! ” 

Kate repaired to her room, frightened 
almost out of her wits at the power her 
brutal master, for now she regarded him 
as such, claimed to have over her. In re- 
moving her dress before retiring, the hand- 
kerchief she had secreted for security fell 
to the floor, and she picked it up and care- 
fully examined it. It was a neat and ele- 
gantly embroidered article with some one’s 
initials worked upon it. Her trunk was 
open and she threw the relic in upon her 
clothing. ‘ 4 It may be of service to me some 
day. I will keep it.” 

The incident of the drugged and drunken 
young man impressed her greatly. She 
had never in all her life before witnessed 
such a scene. To think that her life now 
was cast with such surroundings made her 
tremble when she meditated over them. 
“Will the Lord forgive me for such rash- 
ness? Will I ever be able to hold up my 
head in the face of respectable people. Wiil 
I live to ride through to the end?” 

Time rolled on. Coon grew bolder in his 
requirements, harsher in his treatment to 
those under him, and more daring in his 
impositions upon his customers. Still, his 


The Tragedy of Baden 


57 


place continued to draw patrons, though in 
diminished numbers. One day a man of 
more than ordinary refinement for the lo- 
cality came to the bar. Kate was not in the 
saloon at the time, but plainly saw the vis- 
itor from the ‘ ‘ cooling-room, ’ ’ in which 
she was engaged at the time, cleaning up. 

“Have you a good cigar ?” he blandly in- 
quired. 

“The only kind I keep here,” was the 
reply. 

“Please let me have a couple,” said the 
stranger as he placed a silver dollar on the 
counter. 

“How is trade these days?” he asked. 

“Pretty fair for the season,” answered 
Coon. 

1 i This is an excellent cigar, give me three 
more of them.” 

The stranger gave a casual glance about 
him, and asked, “Do you manage your 
place alone ? I should think you would re- 
quire help here to assist you.” 

“I do,” said Coon, “but it seems hard 
to get any one with sense enough to keep 
awake around here. I need a man now, but 
I can’t get time enough to go out and find 
one. Do you belong here?” asked Coon. 

“I travel from place to place,” replied 
the stranger. 


58 


The Tragedy of Baden 


‘ ‘ Won’t you take something with me?” 
asked the proprietor. 

“It’s too early for me yet,” was the 
reply. 

4 ‘Well, come in later; we keep a nice 
brand of liquors and cigars,” remarked 
Coon, steadily eyeing the diamond pin worn 
by the visitor. 

“I may call in again before leaving 
town,” said the stranger as he bowed to 
the proprietor and started out of the sa- 
loon. 

“My,” said Mrs. Coon, stepping up near 
to her husband, “he’s an easy sucker; why 
didn’t you haul him in?” 

“You keep your mouth shut, ’ ’ replied the 
husband. “I’ll land him before the week’s 
over. ’ ’ 

Katy had heard most of the foregoing 
conversation from her nearby retreat, her 
proximity not being suspected by the 
couple. 

“I must move from this place,” said the 
girl, “for if they knew I was listening they 
would be awfully rough on me.” So she 
cautiously turned to her work in the “cool- 
ing-room, ’ ’ wondering. 

“If we could operate a dance-hall in con- 
nection with this bar I could easily double 
my money,” remarked the proprietor. 


The Tragedy of Baden 


59 


“ You would have to get more girls,” re- 
plied his wife. 

“Well, that’s easy enough done,” said 
Coon; “the town’s full of them.” 

“What would you do with this one?” 

“Make her lead the dances,” said he. 

“Well, her time will be up in a few 
months ; don’t you think you had better get 
her engagement renewed?” 

“Don’t bother yourself about that,” said 
the husband, “I’ll fix that all right.” 

“Why, how are you going to do it?” 

“How?” he exclaimed — “I’ll make a 
four out of that two in her agreement, 
that’s all. The only thing in the world that 
holds me back now is the lack of room. If 
the owner will add to this building, I will 
open a dance-hall below, and a gaming- 
room above it; and he’s promised to do 
this for me. ’ ’ 

“My! but, Coon, you are a great man for 
projecting.” 

“No projecting at all about it, it’s simply 
business.” 

The conversation might have been pro- 
longed had not two customers entered and 
called for drinks. 

When Kate was not busy about the sa- 
loon she retired to her room and sewed, for 
it was about the only amusement she had 


60 


The Tragedy of Baden 


in which, her heart was interested. At meal 
times the family were usually quiet as they 
sat around the table, except when a quarrel 
arose, which was not unusual, between the 
wife and husband, and especially was this 
the case after an over-indulgence in 
liquors. Mrs. Coon had easy access to the 
drinks at any time, and now of late was 
more or less under the influence of liquor 
the greater portion of her time. 

“How about that dance-hall ?” she asked 
at the table one day. 

“They will begin the place next week, 
and we will be in it by Christmas. Do you 
know how to dance ?” he asked Kate. 

‘ ‘ Only a little, ’ ’ she replied, now, timidly, 
expecting abuse after each question put to 
her. 

“Then you get to learning, for we are 
going to have dancing here next month. ’ ’ 

“Who will do it!” asked Kate. 

“Well, you for one,” said Coon; “and I 
guess there will be no difficulty in getting 
you a partner.” 

“Well, it seems to me that would be fine, 
if you could get a few nice girls here and 
have a dance sometimes.” 

“That’s just what I am going to do,” 
said Coon; “have a dance here every Sat- 
urday night.” 


The Tragedy of Baden 61 

“Will you send out invitations ? ’ ’ asked 
Kate. 

44 You wait and see,” was the blunt reply. 

One night, while Kate was handing 
drinks around, and receiving petty compli- 
ments from the customers, some man hand- 
ed her a dollar, in addition to the regular 
price for his drink. 

4 4 What is this for?” she asked. 

4 4 For you,” he said. 

The girl instantly tossed it back to him, 
and turned away. She was too busy to 
study its import, and too guileless to inter- 
pret its meaning even had she the time to 
do so. Her native instinct told her it was 
wrong to receive such gifts from any one 
in a bar-room, and she tossed it back to the 
giver. 

Incidents like these frequently occurred, 
and they annoyed her. 4 4 But what can I 
do? How can I escape them? Where can 
I go?” she asked herself. One evening she 
was asked by a young upstart : 

4 4 Would you like to get married?” 

She broke the rules on that occasion, and 
replied : 

4 4 Don’t you think you had better go home 
to your mother?” 

These attentions annoyed her. 4 4 Can I 
endure them any longer ? ” In the quietude 


62 


The Tragedy of Baden 


of her little room she could for a few min- 
utes reflect, after business hours, on what 
she had seen and heard below. Ordinarily, 
she was too fatigued and sleepy to dwell 
long upon them. Yet she was growing more 
and more resolute ; more determined every 
day to leave. “I will risk the law,” she 
said to herself one night. “I will even go 
to jail if necessary. Good people are some- 
times sent there; any imprisonment would 
be preferable to this life. What is this but 
imprisonment, anyhow? Who are my as- 
sociates but criminals and evildoers? Have 
I not seen and heard enough to convince me 
of the correctness of my charges. It is two 
months yet before my contract ceases ; but 
oh ! what mental anguish must I go through 
in that time ! I now begin to see the wicked 
side of life; and they are going to add 
dancing to the balance; and I am to dance; 
and with whom? and for what? Can they 
mean to turn that scum into the dancing- 
room for me to lead them? I see through 
it now. My conscience now rebels. I will 
die before I submit to such unholy business 
any longer. I will seek my opportunity be- 
fore that time, and fly.” 


CHAPTER V 


“Come in-!” 

The voice that uttered this invitation 
proceeded from a tall, slenderly built, dark- 
complexioned gentleman with dull, dreamy- 
looking eyes and a thin, black mustache. 
He sat alone in his little, plainly furnished 
office reading one of many letters that lay 
on his table, and motioned with his hand 
toward a chair, with the salutation, 4 ‘ Take 
a seat,” when his visitor entered. 

Having finished his letter, Arthur Whit- 
man, for he it was, remarked : 

“Well, how can I serve you?” 

“Why,” said the visitor, “I have been 
sent here by a person who told me you 
wanted some one to work for you. 1 ’ 

“Have you any experience in my line?” 

“Yes, I have worked in the service for 
about three years,” was the reply. 

“Whom for?” 

“For a railroad company.” 

“What company?” 

“The Great Western.” 

“In what department?” 


64 


The Tragedy of Baden 


“With the claim agent.” 

1 1 Why did you quit your employer V 9 

“It is most likely I lost my place with 
that road from the fact that I found out 
too much irregularity in one of the other 
departments, and reported it,” said the 
visitor. “I have, however, a letter of rec- 
ommendation from the claim agent him- 
self, which is a strong indorsement in my 
favor.” 

“Will you let me see that letter? Well, 
this seems satisfactory,” said Mr. Whit- 
man, after reading the testimonial. ‘ 1 Have 
you ever worked in a drug-store?” 

“No, sir.” 

“Or in a bar-room?” 

“Yes,” replied the visitor, “I worked in 
a bar-room once for about eight months, 
and am familiar with that line of busi- 
ness.” 

‘ 4 Know how to put up all kinds of drinks ; 
serve beer, and so forth?” 

“Yes, sir.” 

“Well, what I want is a young man to 
work for me in a saloon, and to keep his 
eyes wide open and his mouth shut while 
so employed. Do you think you can fill 
such a position?” 

“Yes, sir ; I think I could do that. I have 
done the same thing before.” 


The Tragedy of Baden 


65 


“Very well, then, if you can work for me 
along such lines as these, I can place you.” 

“How much do you pay for such work?” 
inquired the visitor. 

“Are you married or single?” asked Mr. 
Whitman. 

“Single, sir.” 

“Any relations living around here?” 

“No, sir.” 

“Well, I will give you thirty dollars a 
month, and you may get out of the man you 
work under as much as you please. Do you 
understand?” 

“I think I do, sir,” said the visitor. 

“Your age?” 

‘ ‘ Twenty-one, nearly. ’ 9 

“You look much younger. Now here is 
my outline of business for you. There is a 
saloon doing business in this city, and the 
proprietor needs an assistant. I want you 
in this saloon, and I want you to work there 
in my interest. You will apply to the pro- 
prietor for the job, and he will probably 
accept you. It will all depend upon your 
experience in the business, and the wages 
you demand. Now, you go there when I 
send you, apply to the proprietor for the 
position as if you never had been sent 
there, and agree to work for him at, say, 
thirty dollars a month. Give him to under- 


66 


The Tragedy of Baden 


stand that if you suit him, and if his busi- 
ness picks up in the future, then you will 
expect a better remuneration. Do you un- 
derstand the matter thoroughly ?” 

‘ ‘Oh, yes, sir; I understand all you say, 
perfectly. ’ 7 

“You understand that you are working 
primarily for me?” 

“Yes, sir.” 

“And that you are not to mention my 
name in connection with your employ- 
ment?” 

“Yes, sir.” 

“And that you are to report to me, con- 
fidentially, on anything crooked you may 
notice going on in that bar-room at any 
time?” 

“Yes, sir.” 

“Now,” continued Whitman, “I think I 
have instructed you sufficiently to give you 
a trial, and if you prove yourself service- 
able I can place you in some more remuner- 
ative situation later on. Go off now and 
think over the proposition, and return here 
in half an hour, and if you are then willing 
to go to work for me I will give you the 
location I wish to send you to, and will ask 
you one more question.” 

The young applicant now arose and 
promised to do as he had been directed. 


The Tragedy of Baden 


67 


“He’s a very particular man,” thought 
the applicant, “but then it is business, and 
no doubt he wants to put me on to some fine 
work, and I know from past experience that 
there is plenty of room for fine work in 
watching some of the saloon business.” 

Arthur Whitman, though not over forty 
years of age, was an old detective. He had 
commenced his career in this department 
when quite a boy, and at the age of twenty- 
one had already made a splendid reputa- 
tion ; he had brought scores of criminals to 
the bench of justice, and was feared by 
every evil-doer in his section of the country. 

He was cool, shrewd, brave and intelli- 
gent; indefatigable in the prosecution of 
his work, and was invariably sought after 
whenever it was an object to ferret out 
some crime. Whitman had never married, 
for the single reason that he had never 
loved but one, and that one at the time of 
his attentions to her was in no condition 
to return his love. Ella Coleman was that 
woman, but she had passed beyond his 
reach and he now supposed her dead. He 
still cherished her memory as a beautiful 
dream, and mourned her as a dear one lost. 

For many months past the city of Baden 
from time to time had been stirred up by 
the perpetration of queer and unusual of- 


68 


The Tragedy of Baden 


fenses against the laws of order and de- 
cency, and many a parent had received a 
shock to his idea of propriety on seeing his 
son brought home at night in an intoxicated 
and unconscious condition, as well as bereft 
of change which it was well known he had 
in abundance when he left the parental roof 
that evening after supper. 

Arthur Whitman had risen from his 
chair after the departure of the applicant 
and was pacing up and down his little office 
room, with hands crossed behind him, map- 
ping out a line of procedure for his new 
campaign, when another knock was heard 
upon the office door. 

Whitman advanced rapidly to the en- 
trance, opened the door, and admitted a 
stranger. 

1 ‘ Are you Arthur Whitman of the detec- 
tive force ?” inquired the newcomer. 

“I am, sir,” was the reply. 

“My name is Goodman, Mr. Whitman, 
and I have called on you to lay a matter 
before you which I think should be investi- 
gated, and if possible suppressed before 
more serious consequences grow out of it . 1 7 

“Yes,” responded the detective, “what 
is the trouble? By the way, have a seat, 
and tell me what you want . 7 7 

“Well, it is just this, Mr. Whitman. I 


The Tragedy of Baden 


69 


am a merchant in this city, and I have a 
son. On two occasions now, in the past six 
months, this boy of mine has left his home 
to go into the city, apparently well, and he 
has been brought back to my house, or else 
he has come staggering back to it, in a state 
of semi-consciousness, unable to give any 
account of his actions during the interval 
he was away, and besides, without a cent in 
his pockets after his return, although he 
left home with sums of money on his per- 
son varying from ten to fifteen dollars at 
a time. Last night he left home to attend 
the theatre, with ten dollars in his pocket, 
and in the best of health. At ten o’clock 
he returned in a dazed condition, became 
rapidly worse; grew furious; began to 
shout and cry out, and had attacks of con- 
vulsions, when it became necessary to hold 
him down in bed, and it took three or four 
of us to do this successfully. I sent imme- 
diately for my family physician, and he 
was soon on the spot, and after working 
with my son for half an hour he succeeded 
in quieting him and restoring him to con- 
sciousness. 

“I asked the physician to explain the na- 
ture of my son’s attack, and he informed 
me that the boy had been drugged and 
probably robbed in some low-down bar- 


70 


The Tragedy of Baden 


room. Now, my son does not frequent such! 
places, and as a rule never drinks anything 
more than a glass of beer ; and how he man- 
aged to fall into such a place and get into 
such a fix I am utterly unable to tell. ’ ’ 

“How old is your son?” asked the detec- 
tive. 

“He is eighteen years of age,” replied 
Mr. Goodman. “Now, while I do not care 
particularly to be paying out fifty dollars 
every four months for medical services in 
a case like this,” continued the merchant, 
“still, the outlay is nothing compared to 
the condition my son is placed in, and the 
disturbance it places me and my family in 
to see him so. Besides, a repetition of such 
occurrences may prove fatal at any time, or 
else may drive the boy into a state of per- 
manent insanity, so said the doctor. Now, 
I am willing to pay liberally for the detec- 
tion and suppression of such deviltry, and 
if you will undertake the job of ferreting 
out the perpetrator of such crimes and 
bringing him to justice I will pay you any 
reasonable fee. Will you undertake to do 
this for me , 9 9 continued the merchant, * ‘ and 
if so, what would be your charge?” 

“Yes,” replied Whitman, “I will do my 
best to run down the guilty party, and se- 
cure his conviction, and as this work will 


The Tragedy of Baden 


71 


require some outlay on my part to do so, I 
will charge you three hundred dollars : one 
hundred down to begin on ; one hundred as 
soon as the criminal has been committed to 
jail, and the balance when he or she has 
been convicted. ,, 

‘ ‘ Very good,” responded the merchant, 
“and here is the first payment to start in 
on. But do you think it is possible that 
the perpetrator might be a woman?” 

“It sometimes happens, Mr. Goodman, 
that the main actor in such transactions, 
or at any rate the chief accomplice in such 
crimes, is a woman.” 

“ Well,” concluded Mr. Goodman, 
“should you have any information for me 
upon this subject let me know, will you?” 
and with this request, the merchant seized 
his hat, shook hands with the detective, and 
hurried out. 

“Well,” said Whitman to himself, “this 
only confirms what I have been suspecting 
all along. This story is no surprise to me; 
and now, I am more convinced than ever 
that we have in this town as rotten a den 
of iniquity as could be found in any of the 
older metropolitan cities of the country, 
and possibly we may have here several of 
such dens. I will overtake this rascal, in 
time. I have been watching out myself for 


72 


The Tragedy of Baden 


some time past. Goodman’s testimony is 
only contributory to that of others here on 
file in this office, and now I feel assured that 
I am on the proper trail. ’ ’ 

At the date of this writing, in the early 
seventies, Baden was, comparatively speak- 
ing, a new and prosperous American city, 
of probably twenty thousand inhabitants. 
It was a place of call for vessels, and they 
discharged and took on miscellaneous car- 
goes, as well as passengers, at every trip. 
The place was emerging from the chaos of 
civil war which had prevailed all around it, 
and the machinery of municipal govern- 
ment was then running in an irregular and 
haphazard manner. 

It was a new town ; a live and wide-open 
town; and many individuals undertook to 
run their places of amusement in defiance 
of statutory law. 

Baden possessed a city council, a police 
department, a large and fairly equipped 
hospital, and a fairly well-conducted and 
populous cemetery. 

The hospital at that time had been leased 
by the city to Dr. Ketchum, who ran the 
institution more on a practical than on a 
scientific basis. There was none of that 
splendid equipment which characterizes 
such institutions to-day. The trained nurse 


The Tragedy of Baden 


73 


was then an unborn wonder, and the intel- 
lectual machinery that kept the place going 
was comparatively crude and antiquated. 
Dr. Ketchum kept about him a few young 
men who were anxious to pursue the prac- 
tice of medicine, and they came to him and 
worked about the place in the capacity of 
medical internes, merely for the privilege 
of familiarizing themselves with the dif- 
ferent ailments they encountered there, and 
to study medicine. The doctor selected the 
brightest of these internes, usually a grad- 
uate, to represent him in his absence, and 
to all he allowed the occasional privileges 
of prescribing for the patients, and some- 
times to do a little dissecting. 

Ketchum was away from the hospital 
much of the time, and it often happened 
that the students under the house doctor 
ran the place for days at a time along lines 
laid down by their venerable preceptor. 
Most of the patients were of the laboring 
class, and whenever a case of unusual se- 
verity was admitted, Dr. Ketchum was 
summoned to come out from the city and 
direct its treatment. 

Such, then, is a brief description of the 
City Hospital of Baden, and of its manage- 
ment in the early seventies. It was the 
only institution of its kind in the city. 


74 


The Tragedy of Baden 


There was no rivalry against it then, and 
the community seemed very well satisfied 
with the manner in which it was conducted. 

This digression is necessary in order to 
prepare the reader for occurrences which 
will be introduced later on, and we will now 
return to the detective. 

Arthur Whitman continued to walk up 
and down the floor after Goodman had left 
his office. While thus engaged the appli- 
cant for work returned, knocked at the 
door, and was admitted. 

“Well, will you take the job I offered 
your’ 

“Yes, sir.” 

“Then here are your directions. Go to 
the place named on this envelope, and get 
to work as soon as possible, and after you 
secure your position and get your start, 
come back here and report to me.” 

“Yes, sir.” 

“Finally, what is your name?” asked 
Whitman. 

“Paul Jones, sir,” was the reply. 


CHAPTER VI 


Nellie Bly sat by the window in the par- 
lor of her quiet little home in Charleston, 
watching the passers-by and wondering 
why the object of her expectation was so 
tardy in putting in his promised appear- 
ance. 

1 ‘ Here have I been watching for the past 
two hours, eagerly waiting, and scanning 
the faces of approaching forms; and yet 
with few exceptions those who hurried by 
have all been total strangers or casual ac- 
quaintances. He wrote to me a week ago 
that by one o’clock to-day, at the latest, I 
might expect him at the house; and now 
it is almost three. 

* ‘ Could Harry have touched at the port 
and gone on without calling to see me to 
say good-by? No, it would be unlike him; 
his boat must have been delayed, and I have 
just that confidence in him to feel assured 
that he will come and see me before ven- 
turing on his extended and indefinite trip 
out West.” 

Nellie Bly was the only daughter of a 

75 


76 


The Tragedy of Baden 


widow whom the circumstances of war had 
compelled to forego the luxuries of her 
former life, and run a small but fashionable 
boarding-house in order to earn an honor- 
able existence. None but select people were 
ever taken under her roof, either as guests 
or as boarders, and it was in the capacity 
of the latter class that Harry Benson had 
formed the acquaintance of the Bly family 
and had, in the course of time, won the 
heart of the widow’s pretty daughter. 

They loved each other with the usual 
consequences, and the couple were now only 
waiting for Harry to better his financial 
condition, when they expected to consum- 
mate their pledges of love before some ac- 
cepted minister, and go to housekeeping. 

Nellie was eighteen, and decidedly pret- 
ty; was of medium size, and possessed a 
lovely disposition and beautiful black eyes. 

Her father had been a man of means and 
prominence in Charleston during his life, 
and his daughter had been reared in luxury 
and refinement. Mr. Bly had died some 
years before. The civil war had well-nigh 
swamped the little fortune of the family, 
and, as just stated, Mrs. Bly, in order to 
earn an honest and independent existence, 
had, like thousands of other excellent wom- 
en in the South, determined to carry on a 


The Tragedy of Baden 


77 


first-class, fashionable, and refined board- 
ing-house. Nellie was full of fun, truth- 
ful and honest, and was an accomplished 
musician. In her disposition, however, she 
was reserved, though confiding in those she 
loved. 

Harry Benson, her lover, was her anti- 
pode in disposition. He was open, jovial, 
warm-hearted to his friends, whole-souled, 
genial, generous to a fault, hail-fellow 
wherever met, and always wore a half smile 
on his face while not asleep. 

Harry was a drummer, and represented 
a large New England house, and his spe- 
cialty was coffee. What he did not know 
about coffee was not worth inquiring after. 
He could tell more about the bean, prob- 
ably, than any man on the road or even off 
of it ; and for this very knowledge he was 
held in high esteem by Baker, Brown and 
Buster, importers and manufacturers of 
first-class coffees, and given their confi- 
dence and a liberal salary while represent- 
ing them. Harry had been working the 
field of South Carolina, in the early seven- 
ties, but on account of his extraordinary 
success in making sales and drawing cus- 
tomers for his employers, he had been as- 
signed to a new and larger territory far- 
ther west, and at the time that Nellie sat 


78 


The Tragedy of Baden 


looking for him at the parlor window, he 
was then en route to operate his new and 
untried field. 

“Oh! there he comes now,” said the joy- 
ful girl as she ran with a smile on her beau- 
tiful face, and opened the door to admit 
him. 

“Why, Harry, what kept you so long? 
I’ve been at the window watching for you 
for over an hour.” And she threw herself 
into his big, manly arms as she kissed him. 

“Why, Nellie, my darling,” said Harry, 
depositing his sample case on the floor, “we 
were late in arriving — an occurrence that 
often takes place when traveling on a 
steamship; and besides that, I could not 
resist the temptation to run in on old Slo- 
cum, after arriving here, and sell him a 
cargo of coffee. Yes, Nellie, just think of 
it, fifty-five sacks of the best grade of J ava, 
without saying anything about ten sacks 
of our ‘ Connecticut Blend.’ Why, do you 
know that the commissions on such a sale 
amount to over one hundred and fifty dol- 
lars for your best friend and yourself? 
Now, Nellie, how is the sample package 
working I sent down to you from New York 
last month ? Do you know, miss, that coffee 
brings more happiness into the human fam- 
ily than any other agency, the Bible itself 


The Tragedy of Baden 


79 


not excepted. No one is worth a cent in the 
morning until he or she has swallowed 
down a cupful of coffee. No battle was 
ever won, no great sermon ever preached 
or powerful undertaking ever accomplished 
without the aid of coffee. 

“Nellie, you are making a mistake by not 
taking a cup of ‘ Connecticut Blend’ every 
day of your life, before sunrise. Try it. 
See what it has done for me. You Imow 
two years ago I only weighed one hundred 
and fifty pounds, and now I am ashamed of 
myself. One hundred and seventy, and all 
due mostly to coffee. Coffee is the staff of 
life, Nellie. You can work half a day on a 
cup of good coffee, but on no other bever- 
age we know of. But I am off the track. 
Nellie, how have you been since I kissed 
you last?” 

“Oh, Harry, don’t put it that way. You 
mean how have I been since you saw me 
last. Splendid!” 

“It’s about the same thing, Nellie,” said 
Harry , ( 6 for you know every time I see you 
I — er — er — sell you a package of ‘ Connecti- 
cut Blend’ with etceteras. Say, Nellie, don’t 
you think it’s a pretty afternoon’s job to 
unload ten sacks of ‘ Connecticut Blend’ on 
old Slocum?” 

“Harry,” replied Nellie, “I know noth- 


80 


The Tragedy of Baden 


ing of your business methods. If you say 
it was a good afternoon’s job to unload ten 
sacks of ‘ Connecticut Blend’ on old Slocum, 
then I know it was a successful business en- 
terprise. I don’t know what ‘ Connecticut 
Blend’ is. I have never tasted it, nor in- 
deed ever heard of it, until now.” 

‘ ‘ Great Heavens, Nellie! never heard of 
‘Connecticut Blend,’ and engaged for six 
months to its inventor and promoter? 
That’s a good one. Why, here is a sample ; 
look at it; taste of it; smell it. Did you 
ever in all your life smell a more delicious 
aroma; isn’t it heavenly; doesn’t it intoxi- 
cate your senses?” 

“Why, Harry, this isn’t coffee at all; it 
is pulverized cedar.” 

“By the Great Horn Block! Nellie, you 
must have a cold in your head. Give me 
that package; let me smell it. Why, see 
here; the sample hasn’t been properly 
blended, ’ ’ replied Harry. ‘ ‘ They have sim- 
ply dumped in a package of sub-blended 
coffee upon me. But here,” added he, 
“smell this,” as he threw in and incor- 
porated a handful of genuine coffee with 
the other. Now smell something better 
than attar of roses. Isn’t that grand for a 
coffee?” 

“This is all right now, Harry, but to tell 


The Tragedy of Baden 


81 


you the truth the first that you gave me to 
smell was nothing but cedar . 9 7 

“Now, see here, Nellie, how is your 
mother? Did you surely want to see me 
while I was away? But to get back to cof- 
fee. You know, Nellie, there are only two 
things in the world I ever think of at night, 
and one is yourself and the other is coffee. 
Sometimes you come first, sometimes coffee 
does.” 

“Harry, won’t you let up on coffee a lit- 
tle and talk to me?” implored Nellie. 

“Why, certainly, dear ; but hurry up with 
your questions; the boat only gave me an 
hour and a half to be absent, and half of 
that time is already gone.” 

“Well, Harry, don’t you think I come in 
before coffee, on occasions like this?” 

“See here, Nellie — coffee comes first, for 
this reason: You know our speedy mar- 
riage depends on my financial success. If 
I can make a hit at coffee, my only chance 
of success, you are there ; if I fail at it, then 
where are you? So with you ostensibly in 
the background, but really in front, I am 
going to talk coffee until my lips get blis- 
tered, or else miss the mark I am shooting 
at. My intense desire to see you to-day, 
dearest, cut me out of a sale of at least 
twenty sacks. Just think of it. Fifty dol- 


82 


The Tragedy of Baden 


lars in commissions turned down to see Nel- 
lie Bly for just thirty minutes ! Why, this 
is over one dollar a minute to look at your 
beautiful face . ’ 9 

“Yes, and half of this time is already 
gone in talking about coffee,” said Nellie. 

“Because,” answered Harry, “I am 
posted much better on coffee than I am on 
the Bly family, just at present. ’ ’ 

“And you leave in an hour, do you, 
Harry ? ’ ’ she asked him. ‘ ‘ And when am I 
ever to hear from you after you leave; or 
where will I write to you, dear ? 9 9 

“As for that Nellie, I leave pretty soon, 
and will write to you often; that is, I’ll 
manage to let you know where I am. how 
progressing, and where you may find me 
by letter. If my venture succeeds, then I 
will be here again in three months, and will 
make you Mrs. Benson.” 

“And if you do not?” inquired Nellie. 

“Then, in four months, at latest, you will 
see me. But I am not going to fail, Nellie 
Bly, and you may just as well now be em- 
broidering N. B. on your handkerchiefs, as 
to wait until then.” 

“Why, Harry, those initials are on 
everything that I own; so you see I am 
really ready whenever you come back 
again.” 


The Tragedy of Baden 


83 


“Why, that's so,” answered Mr. Ben- 
son; “how stupid I am on everything ex- 
cept coffee! Now, Nellie, I must leave you, 
and before doing so I want you to accept 
this trifling memento of my love and re- 
spect for you. Here is a ten-dollar gold 
piece, and there's no telling how many 
trinkets, or extracts, or what-nots it might 
bring you; or boxes of candy or milk 
shakes, or anything else you might fancy.” 

4 ‘ Oh, Harry, you are always so kind and 
so generous; but as much as I love you I 
would not dare accept money from you at 
this moment.” 

“And why, little girl, are you afraid 
of it?” 

“Not at all, Harry, but I do not consider 
it proper for young ladies to accept such 
gifts from gentlemen; anything else, ex- 
cept money. ' ' 

“And we engaged, too !” he replied. 

“Yes, even under such conditions, it does 
not seem proper; for no lady elevates her- 
self in the esteem and respect of a man 
who walks off with his money.” 

“Under different circumstances, Nellie, 
I will admit the truth of such reasoning, for 
no man respects a young lady who he knows 
is hanging around for what gifts she can 
filch from him, and there are hundreds who 


84 


The Tragedy of Baden 


are artists in this business; bnt with you 
the case is entirely different. You are mine 
and you know it, as I am your prospective 
husband — and it seems to me where there 
is no impropriety in taking a kiss there cer- 
tainly ought to be none in taking a present 
from a gentleman.” 

“A kiss is an exchange of love between 
an honorable couple when betrothed, ’ 9 said 
Nellie ; 4 4 it is mutual and free from all sor- 
did motives. There is nothing mercenary 
or selfish in a kiss ; but not so in the case of 
material gifts, and especially with money. 
No, Harry, you would love me more to feel 
that I declined your gold, but treasured 
more than any jewel the honest love you 
have for me.” 

4 ‘ My darling little girl, you are priceless, 
and I think more of you now than ever.” 

4 ‘But, Harry, I will do this for you, if 
you think it well — I have a rare coin which 
I value just as much as though its worth 
were ten times greater, an antique silver 
dollar, and I will exchange with you if you 
do not object.” 

“It's a bargain, Nell, and each will keep 
the coin as a souvenir as long as his or her 
love remains.” 

Nellie withdrew from her pocketbook the 


The Tragedy of Baden 


85 


coin in question, and Harry transferred his 
gold piece to her in exchange. 

“Keep it,” she said, “as long as you 
love me, and I will do likewise with yours.” 

“By the skies above us, Nellie, it shall 
never pass from my hands as long as I live ! 
But see! It is marked; here are I. C. U. 
cut upon it. Why, I can never look on this 
piece of silver without actually bringing 
you face to face with me. It’s a speaking 
photograph;” and he clasped his pocket- 
book upon it and stored it away with his 
treasures. 

“And now, Nellie, before leaving you I 
am going to sing you a little song which I 
composed on my way from New York, and 
put to my own music.” And Harry sang 
her the following verses : 

“ ‘I am going far away, Nellie Bly, Nellie Bly, 

To the golden West I go in search of fame; 

I will see you in my dreams, don’t you cry, don’t 
you cry. 

And will come some day and give you my own 
name. 

“ ‘I am going to the West, Nellie Bly, Nellie Bly, 

In search of fame and fortune for your sake; 

I will come again, my darling, by and by, by and 
by. 

And your hand and heart forever will I take. 

“ ‘Now kiss me, little darling, Nellie Bly, Nellie Bly, 
As a token of the love within your heart; 


86 


The Tragedy of Baden 


And sometimes think of Harry, with a sigh, with 
a sigh — 

We will be together soon, to never part. 

‘We will be together, darling, by and by, by and by, 
When the ship comes sailing home upon the 
deep; 

To be together always till we die, till we die — 

So kiss me, darling, and we will not weep.’ ” 


* 1 Bravo! Harry; but listen, some one 
rings ; let me run to the door and see who 
it is.” And she hastened to answer the 
door bell. 

“Good-evening, Miss Bly, ,, exclaimed a 
determined-looking stranger at the door. 
“Is Mr. Harry Benson inf” 

“Yes,” she replied; “do you wish to 
see him?” 

‘ ‘ For a moment only, and with your per- 
mission I will step in.” The intruder fol- 
lowed Nellie, without formality, and ex- 
claimed, “How do you do, Mr. Benson?” 
shaking his hand cordially. 

“What’s the name, please?” inquired 
Harry. 

“Cheek’s my name, Mr. Benson, and I 
only dropped in for a minute to see you on 
something very vital to your interest. I 
saw by the passenger list of the New York 
steamer that you were here on your way 
to the West, and I followed you up to this 


The Tragedy of Baden 


87 


beautiful place, and realizing what you 
must necessarily go through with in your 
peregrinations in that wild and woolly 
country I have dropped in to write you an 
accident policy.* ’ 

“The Hades you have!” exclaimed Ben- 
son, hurriedly. “ Who told you I wanted 
an accident policy ?” 

“My knowledge of human nature. It’s a 
duty you owe to yourself, Mr. Benson, and 
to any one else dependent upon you. * * 

“I don’t want any insurance, and don’t 
believe in it, anyway,” said Harry. 

“Just the reason I called,” said the 
stranger. “You see, I know your necessi- 
ties better than you do yourself. Do you 
realize where you are going; what you are 
going to encounter; the enormous percent- 
age of accidents and injuries that overtake 
the traveler through the unknown West; 
the almost certain illness that awaits you 
out there? Do you know that every third 
man, woman, or child who visits the West 
either gets killed, receives an injury, or 
else gets sick wdthin the first sixty days 
after sojourning out in that country? Now, 
you want to be prepared against all such 
contingencies. You want to be insured 
against almost certain illness, accident or 
death, and our company issues policies to 


88 


The Tragedy of Baden 


cover each and all of these conditions. Now 
let me write you a cheap policy to cover all 
of these inevitables : to cover illness, sure 
to overtake you; accident, very possible; 
loss of limb and worse still, possibly loss of 
life. Ours is the strongest company in the 
world, the Great New York & London 
Sickness, Accident, and Life Insurance 
Company. Capital paid in, thirty million 
dollars ; pays 101 cents on the dollar on all 
its obligations ; and our motto is to ‘ Go for 
the traveler/ and especially for one about 
to enter the great and unknown West, 
where the chances of sickness or accident, 
to say nothing whatever of death, are al- 
ways against you. ’ ’ 

‘ 4 See here, Mr. Cheek , 9 9 replied Benson, 
warmly, “I’ll be goldarned if you don’t de- 
serve your name. You have pursued me 
into the secluded home of a lady, forced me 
up against the wall of her private parlor, 
and in spite of my protest against your in- 
terference you are now trying to cram 
down my throat one of your damnable ac- 
cident policies, for which I have no use, 
and in which I have no confidence. ’ ’ 

“Mr. Benson,” exclaimed Mr. Cheek, 
“you cannot deny the sincerity of my mo- 
tives, nor the value of insurance. It costs 
you but little ; the benefits, if needed at all, 


The Tragedy of Baden 


89 


will be incalculable. Think of the country, 
sir, you are now about to enter; the out- 
laws ; the Comanches with their toma- 
hawks; the rattlesnakes, scorpions, taran- 
tulas, and Gila monsters. Think of the 
deadly fevers; typhus, typhoid-malarial, 
yellow and backbone fevers which pre- 
vail there all the year round. Think of 
the Ku Klux Klan; the “White Camelias,” 
and above all, of the deadly “Strangers’ 
Committee.” Finally and above all, Mr. 
Benson, think of the horrible coyotes, those 
western hyenas that sneak up and run away 
with their victims on the very suburbs of 
some of the western cities. What a ter- 
rible fate to be eaten up by coyotes, Mr. 
Benson! What would your mother and 
sweetheart think of you if such a fate 
should overtake you, and you not in- 
sured against such common accidents? 
Now, Mr. Benson, we allow you five dollars 
each for the loss of a finger; fifty for the 
loss of a hand ; one hundred for the loss of 
an arm, and two hundred dollars for the 
loss of a leg.” 

“By the powers above!” said Harry. “I 
would not take fifty thousand apiece for 
them, and you wish to buy them up for two 
hundred dollars apiece. To Hades with 
such indemnity ! ’ ’ 


90 


The Tragedy of Baden 


“But stop,” said Cheek; “listen! All 
this indemnity, and even more, for the pal- 
try sum of five dollars premium a month, 
and for which we would pay your beneficia- 
ries one thousand dollars if you died. Pay 
us ten dollars a month and all these figures 
will be doubled ; fifteen dollars a month and 
they will be trebled, etc. ’ ’ 

“What proofs of death do you require, 
before paying your policies?” asked Ben- 
son. 

“A coroner’s certificate, or that of some 
physician, sworn to before a notary pub- 
lic,” said Cheek. 

“Who will furnish the evidence of death 
if the coyotes eat me!” inquired the drum- 
mer. 

“Why, your companions, of course.” 

“I don’t believe in it,” said Benson. 

“Think of your life, Mr. Benson,” said 
Cheek, now pressing him down in the cor- 
ner. “Think of the Comanches; think of 
the coyotes, ’ ’ said he, raising his voice and 
closing down upon him. “The coyotes, the 
coyotes, Mr. Benson,” shouted Cheek. 

“Oh, Harry, the coyotes, dear; the coy- 
otes!” cried Nellie. 

‘ ‘ To hell with your coyotes ! Let me out 
of here!” shouted Benson. 


The Tragedy of Baden 


91 


“Oh, Harry, take it, take it!” implored 
Nellie. t ‘ It might save you your life . 9 ’ 

6 ‘ See here, stranger, you are a slick one. 
On Nellie’s account I’ll take out a one thou- 
sand life policy in her favor. It is cheaper 
to do so than to burn up my time listening 
to your jargon. Write it out; but by the 
Great Horn Block! I am going to make 
you drink coffee for it.” 

“What’s that, Mr. Benson?” inquired 
Cheek, calmly, while writing out his policy. 

“See here, my friend, I am a drummer 
myself, and when it comes to a show-down 
on coffee, I am as good as you are on in- 
surance. Now here’s two dollars and a half 
on your policy, and the balance you will 
take out in coffee.” 

“What’s that?” said Cheek. “Why, I 
don’t need coffee, Mr. Benson; don’t drink 
it; and besides, I don’t believe it’s 
healthy. ’ ’ 

‘ ‘ Mr. Cheek, you are a gifted young man, 
but you have much to learn yet. And one 
thing you are defective in is your knowl- 
edge of coffee. Now, I am in that line; rep- 
resent the biggest coffee house in the 
United States, — that of Baker, Brown & 
Buster, — and we carry the finest lines of 
imported and manufactured coffees in the 
world. Our 1 Connecticut Blend’ is sur- 


92 


The Tragedy of Baden 


passed by no coffee in existence. It’s a 
tonic, stimulant, sedative, calmer of dis- 
turbed thoughts, and promoter of intelli- 
gence; produces brilliant thoughts, and 
enables brain workers to do five times more 
business under its influence than without it. 
Now, you want ten pounds of this coffee for 
your own use, and if you have not advanced 
high enough to drink coffee yet, begin at 
once, and grow wiser and more energetic; 
and if you have no aspirations that way, 
give it to your landlady or your mother-in- 
law, or sell it at an advance of 50 per cent, 
to some one.” 

“I would take your coffee, Mr. Benson, 
but my doctor has warned me against 
drinking strong coffee on account of my 
nerves . 9 9 

“Oh, you are in no danger there; your 
nerves will stick. And our ‘ Blend , 9 totally 
unlike all other coffee in the world, was 
made for men and women who were threat- 
ened to break down prematurely. Give a 
package to your doctor — it will enlighten 
him.” 

“What do you call it?” 

“ 1 Connecticut Blend.’ Here, take your 
ten bundles for two and a half and go. ’ 9 

“And now, Nellie, my time is all up — I 
must run to catch my boat. Here, keep the 


The Tragedy of Baden 


93 


policy, it’s made out for you; and give this 
kiss to mamma for me, and keep this for 
yourself as a parting salute from your 
lover. * ’ 


CHAPTER VII 

Harry Benson barely had time to catch 
his steamer. The blades were already in 
motion, and sailors were tugging away at 
the gang-plank when he reached the wharf. 
He was hauled aboard, however, and a min- 
ute later the great coaster Empress had 
backed out into the channel and was turn- 
ing her prow around toward the southwest. 

4 4 That fellow Cheek did it,” murmured 
Harry, as he entered the cabin and deposit- 
ed his sample case. 

The ship had a good list of passengers 
aboard, several of whom had gotten on at 
Charleston, and the drummer’s first duty 
to himself seemed to be the forming of their 
acquaintance. 

Shortly after six supper was announced, 
and most of the travelers sat down to enjoy 
their evening meal, while the great vessel 
ploughed through the waves with her prow 
pointed directly towards the fading tint on 
the horizon in front of her. 

Harry finished his supper, after indulg- 


The Tragedy of Baden 


95 


ing in one or two discourses on the subject 
of coffee to his new acquaintances, several 
of whom admitted that until then they had 
lived in ignorance concerning it. Then it 
occurred to him that he had much to think 
about; business plans to modify and per- 
fect; and he lit a cigar and wandered out 
to the extremity of the vessel’s prow, where 
he found a chair, in order to indulge in a 
little business meditation. In this plan, 
however, he was destined to be interrupted, 
and in a manner which he had not calculat- 
ed on. The moon was shining brightly in 
the east, and the atmosphere about was 
cool, bracing, and inviting. Each splash 
of the waves as they broke against the ves- 
sel’s prow caused cascades of watery dia- 
monds to fall on either side. 

4 ‘ It’s a lovely scene,” thought Harry, 
“and if I only had Nellie here to enjoy it 
with me, I would be the happiest man on 
the hemisphere. ’ ’ He drew his memo- 
randum book from his pocket, and was en- 
deavoring by the light of the moon to make 
some entries for the day. He had about 
completed this undertaking, and had 
thrown up his head for some new inspira- 
tion, when, to his surprise, he beheld stand- 
ing near him the neatly dressed form of a 
beautiful woman. 


96 


The Tragedy of Baden 


“Excuse me, madam/ ’ exclaimed the 
drummer, “let me offer you this chair / ’ 

“I thank you, sir, I would not deprive 
you of your seat. ’ ’ 

“No deprivation, but an honor to me, 
madam, to have you occupy it,” saying 
which, Harry mildly insisted that the lady 
rest herself, while he would find aikdher 
chair elsewhere. 

“You were enjoying the breeze, just 
what I desired to do, ’ ’ replied the beautiful 
lady, ‘ * and rather than deprive you of such 
pleasure I will retire to my stateroom.” 

“You need do neither, madam, for if you 
will allow me, I will bring another chair 
and continue my enjoyment of the beautiful 
evening, where I was when I found you; 
may I do so ? ” 

“Your request is so modest and artless, 
I do not well see how I could possibly re- 
fuse it, ’ ’ replied the lady. 

Harry ran and secured a chair, and plac- 
ing it beside that of his new and attractive 
acquaintance soon found himself in active 
conversation with her. 

“So you are going to visit the West, as 
well as myself,” said he. 

“Yes, I have a little vacation given to 
me, and I thought I would use it by visiting 
that section of the country.” 


The Tragedy of Baden 


97 


“How far do you go?” he asked. 

“As far as Baden.” 

< < Why, I go directly to that port myself, ’ ’ 
said Mr. Benson. 

“Yes?” she replied; “why, that’s a 
charming coincidence. Inasmuch as we are 
travelers aboard the same vessel and going 
to the same port, might I inquire your name 
and occupation?” 

“Madam,” replied Benson, “here is my 
life epitomized in three lines, and it might 
have been put in two . 9 1 He handed her his 
card, which she scanned by the light of the 
moon, and read, “Harry Benson, repre- 
senting Baker, Brown & Buster, Coffee Im- 
porters, New York.” 

“Oh, you are a traveling man, I see.” 

“ Yes, ” replied the commercial agent, 1 1 1 
represent probably the largest importing 
house in the country.” 

“But what a euphonious firm name,” ex- 
claimed the lady ; 1 1 and yet I have seen the 
identical card before.” 

“Very likely,” replied the drummer, 
“for they are scattered all over the coun- 
try. That combination of names alone is 
worth fifty thousand dollars a year to us. 
Why, do you know, a capitalist named Bur- 
net came to our house the other day and 
wanted to buy out Mr. Baker’s interest in 


98 


The Tragedy of Baden 


tlie firm, simply to get his name on our 
card. As a matter of course we turned him 
down.” 

“What line of goods do you carry, Mr. 
Benson?” inquired the fair one. 

“Only coffee,” he replied, “though 
sometimes we handle a few spices and 
mustards. We deal in the finest grades of 
these articles in the world. Java, Mocha, 
West Indian, South American, Mexican 
and domestic brands are on our list, and 
besides these we manufacture more coffee 
right at home than probably any other 
house in the country.” 

“Manufacture coffee? Mr. Benson ; why, 
I thought,” exclaimed the beautiful lady, 
“that all coffee grew out of the ground.” 

“There’s where your coffee education,” 
replied the drummer, “is defective. The 
finest drinking coffee in the world,” con- 
tinued he, “is made in the workshops of 
Connecticut, and I am agent for the manu- 
facturers. Nothing on earth approximates 
our ‘ Connecticut Blend’ in flavor. It’s a 
mixture of all the grades of coffee grown 
under the sun, and if you have never used 
it, madam, I must ask that you call for it 
wherever you stop in the future. It pos- 
sesses the aroma of Mocha, the delicious 
flavor of Java, and the powerful strength 


The Tragedy of Baden 


99 


and tonicity of Rio. To these we add a spe- 
cial product of our own, making it a 
‘ Blend ’ fit for the tables of the crowned 
heads of the world. Call for it wherever 
you stop, in the future, and he sure to see 
that it is ‘ Connecticut Blend’ they are serv- 
ing you.” 

“I certainly will do so, Mr. Benson, for 
I am much interested in coffee, and I know 
of nothing more acceptable than a cup of 
cafe noir before rising in the morning. 
While out in Australia, last season, I had 
the pleasure of riding through a large cof- 
fee plantation owned by a wealthy English- 
man, and it interested me very much. And 
while in China I gathered some tea plants 
and brought them along with me to Ameri- 
ca, thinking that they might do well in this 
country, but they became troublesome to 
handle and I left them in Charleston be- 
hind me. ’ ’ 

“Well, madam, these incidents alone are 
sufficient to make me very much interested 
in you, and I trust that we may be good 
friends all along the trip.” 

“I see no reason why we should not be,” 
she responded. “Are you married, Mr. 
Benson!” 

‘ ‘Well, do I look like a married man ? ’ ’ 

“Why, to tell the truth I should say no.” 


Lore, 


100 


The Tragedy of Baden 


“You are right, madam. I am not, but 
I expect to be within the next few months ; 
and one of my reasons for going ashore at 
Charleston was to see the ideal of my heart 
and say good-by to her ; likewise to sing to 
her a few stanzas I composed on my way 
down from New York.” 

‘ 4 Are you a musician then, Mr. Benson ? 1 ’ 

“Only in a small capacity, madam; but 
the fact is I attended the grand opera in 
New York a few weeks ago, and ever since 
then I have had music running through my 
mind both day and night.” 

“What did you think of the opera, Mr. 
Benson?” 

“I thought it the greatest treat of my 
life. I was carried away with the music, 
and infatuated with the soprano. Why, do 
you know I sent up to that lady a ten-dollar 
boquet in appreciation for her beautiful 
music . 9 ’ 

“Why, Mr. Benson,” exclaimed the lady, 
with a loud, ringing laugh, “would you be- 
lieve that I was the very lady whom you 
sent those flowers to?” 

“By the Great Horn Block!” exclaimed 
Benson, springing up with amazement. “Is 
that so? I am speechless ! I am paralyzed ! 
You the prima donna of that great opera 
company, and I the humble coffee drummer 


■She Tragedy of Baden 


101 


presuming to sit here and chat with her? 
Why, surely this is a dream — a delicious 
intoxication of the senses. How comes it 
you are away from your company and trav- 
eling alone to Baden, on a steamship? How 
comes it you are sitting here in the moon- 
light chatting with a coffee drummer ?” 

“I will tell you, Mr. Benson, you have 
fairly won my confidence, and as we are 
traveling to the same place I will briefly 
acquaint you with my story, and possibly 
enlist your assistance later on. My former 
home was in Baden, where I left my only 
child, seven years ago. She was a beautiful 
girl, ten years of age, and I placed her in 
an orphanage there, on account of my ina- 
bility to care for her, while I went abroad 
to Europe to take up singing for a liveli- 
hood. I triumphed in my tedious efforts; 
joined the opera company you heard me 
sing in ; toured the entire world, and a few 
weeks ago landed in this country. We sang 
last night in Charleston, and this very day 
I secured a ten days’ vacation, in order to 
run down to Baden and see my darling 
child. I do not even know if she is living, 
for I have not heard from her for years. I 
have written often to her, during the past 
two years, but my letters have never been 


102 


The Tragedy of Baden 


replied to; and it makes me sad to think 
of such a possibility as her death.” 

“We will find her, ’ ’ said Benson, enthusi- 
astically, ‘ 4 and if I can assist you in your 
search for her it will be a pleasure for me 
to do so. IWhat was your daughter’s 
name I ’ ’ 

“Kate Coleman,” was the answer. “And 
she was a perfect blonde, with lovely blue 
eyes, and golden ringlets falling to her 
shoulders. Whether she is at the orphan- 
age or elsewhere now, I do not know; but 
one thing I am determined on, if she is 
living, I will find her, and we will live to- 
gether in the future, as I planned we should 
do if I succeeded, many years ago.” 

“Your dream of happiness shall be real- 
ized, if I can help you. Have you deter- 
mined where you shall stay while in Ba- 
den ? ’ ’ asked Benson. 

“Yes, at the Metropolitan,” she replied. 
“It was the best hotel in the city when I 
left there, seven years ago.” 

“It is the best there yet , 9 7 said the drum- 
mer, ‘ 4 and the one I intend to stop at while 
in that city.” 

Twilight had by this time long since 
faded into night. Ella Coleman rose to re- 
tire to her apartment, fearful lest too long 


The Tragedy of Baden 


103 


exposure to the humid air might impair her 
cultured voice. 

“Are you going so soon?” he asked her. 

“Yes, but I will see you in the morning 
again.” 

As she stood upon the vessel's prow, 
robed in a beautiful tailor-made gown, with 
a blue cape thrown about her perfect shoul- 
ders, Benson thought she looked divine. 
Before them the dancing waves sparkled in 
the moonlight and splashed against the ves- 
sel as she rode the waters like a thing of 
life. Behind them two great black stream- 
ers of smoke poured from the funnels of 
the speeding ship and mingled with the sea 
below. 

* ‘ Good-night, Mr. Benson. I am so thank- 
ful to have met you, and to know that I will 
have your company as far as Baden.” 


CHAPTER VIII 

Paul Jones had been working at The 
Crescent now for nearly three weeks. He 
had applied to Coon for the situation, as 
directed, and had been closely scanned and 
questioned by the proprietor before his ac- 
ceptance. 

4 4 Have you ever worked at this business 
before ? ’ ’ he was asked. 

‘‘I have, sir.” 

4 4 Do you know how to keep your mouth 
shut and your hands busy at the same 
time?” 

“I do, sir.” 

“Do you know how to keep your eyes 
shut and your mouth open at the same 
time ? ’ ’ asked Mr. Coon. 

4 4 1 think I do, sir, ’ 9 was the reply. 

4 4 Well, there’s no thinking about it,” 
said the saloonman. 44 YouVe got it to do 
at times in this business, and I won’t em- 
ploy you or anybody else unless I am to be 
obeyed and all the rules of this house fol- 
lowed. 9 9 


104 


Ihe Tragedy of Baden 


105 


“I will obey yonr rules and follow your 
orders as long as I am with you,” replied 
Paul. 

4 ‘Well, what do you want for your serv- 
ices?” 

‘ 6 Twenty-five dollars a week, sir . 9 ’ 

“Oh, that’s too much entirely. Do you 
want to break me up in business ? I ’ll give 
you fifteen a week and no more . 9 ’ 

“We will not quarrel over the salary,” 
said Jones. “Let it go at fifteen dollars a 
week. ’ ’ 

“All right,” said Coon complaisantly, as 
he felt that he was a gainer of ten dollars 
a week on his bargain. “Get behind here 
and put on an apron and go to work.” 

Paul soon convinced his employer that 
he understood his work. He was quick, 
polite to customers, and what pleased old 
Coon better than anything else, he was 
quiet. 

“Now, you will come on at ten in the 
morning and stay here until ten at night, 
except on Saturdays, when you will stay 
here and work until twelve. You can take 
half an hour off for your dinner and sup- 
per.” 

Paul worked away quietly at his job, and 
never seemed to see or hear anything be^- 
yond the counter. At times Coon would be 


106 


The Tragedy of Baden 


absent himself, when bis assistant would 
suddenly wake up and take observations. 

“His beer keg sits back in a transept, 
something I never saw anywhere else,” 
said Paul to himself, “and I notice he is 
completely out of sight of his customers 
at the tables when he draws them the beer. 
Now, this must mean something.” 

Paul had caught sight of the girl, and she 
of him. A mutual admiration sprang up 
between them on the instant, and Coon had 
caught sight of the glance. 

“You just keep your eyes off that girl,” 
he exclaimed emphatically. “She’s my 
daughter, and I allow no talking to her. 
Not a word!” 

The young man nevertheless caught 
many an occasional glance of her, and she 
of him. 

‘ 1 That girl is no more his daughter than 
I am,” thought Paul. “There’s not the 
slightest resemblance to either him or his 
wife, who is a depraved old hag. There’s 
something wrong here, sure. ’ ’ 

Shortly after this two young men came 
to the saloon one evening, and sat down to 
drink beer and play dominoes. Kate was 
alternately at the piano and engaged in 
handing around drinks. They were of a 


The Tragedy of Baden 107 

little better class than usually came there 
to spend their money. 

4 ‘ Here, bring us two beers and a package 
of cigarettes, ’ ’ said one of them, address- 
ing Kate, as he handed her a five-dollar 
bill. 

“Here, take out the change,’ * said Coon 
to Paul, “while I draw them the beer.” 

The young man did as directed, making a 
great rattle with his silver as he sought 
out the proper change. With the dexterity 
of a bank teller he rolled out the money,- 
but took occasion to watch his employer’s 
movements very carefully. Kate stood in 
front of the counter with her waiter, watch- 
ing the young bartender. 

“By George!” said Jones, silently, 
“he’s dropped something into one of the 
glasses.” 

It was all done in an instant, and Paul 
was busily engaged in getting out his 
change when the drinks were passed over 
the counter. In a few minutes the beverage 
got in its work and began to tell in a dis- 
graceful manner upon its victim at the 
table. The beardless customer grew flushed 
and hilarious, boasted of the deception he 
was practicing on his parents, who imag- 
ined him at that time in better company, 
and soon afterwards became maudling 


i08 The Tragedy of Baden 

drunk. He reeled about the room, tried to 
catch and kiss Katie, and then fell on the 
floor. Mr. and Mrs. King ran sympathet- 
ically to the boy, and started off with him 
to the ‘ 1 cooling-room. ’ ’ His companion es- 
sayed to follow. 

“You need not bother about him,” in- 
sisted the couple, “we will lay him on the 
sofa, in the back room, where he can sleep 
it off.” 

“I will stay by him until he recovers,” 
said his companion. 

“Very good in you, if you will,” said 
Mr. Coon. “We will remove his coat, so as 
to make him more comfortable, also his 
trousers.” 

The two young men reached their respec- 
tive homes about three o ’clock in the morn- 
ing, and the victim of the doctored drink 
found to his dismay that all his last 
month’s salary was gone. He was morti- 
fied and ashamed to acknowledge his loss to 
any one, and the robbery was never re- 
ported. 

Kate and the young bartender exchanged 
significant glances with each other. Each 
felt instinctively that an outrage had been 
perpetrated, yet each feared to speak to 
the other as to the matter. Mr. and Mrs. 
Coon returned in a few minutes to the 


The Tragedy of Baden 


109 


drinking-room, looking as unconcerned as 
though they were just in from their dinner. 

As soon as his time was up that night, 
Paul went immediately to Whitman’s office, 
which was always accessible up to a late 
hour every night, and reported. 

“Well, anything to communicate?” 
asked the detective softly. 

“I think so,” was the reply. Jones then 
clearly related his observations while at The 
Crescent, and revealed his suspicions. He 
mentioned the presence of the beautiful 
girl, and of the proprietor’s objections to 
any conversation between them, and of the 
dissimilarity in every respect between the 
girl and her reputed parents. 

“These are two very suspicious circum- 
stances,” remarked Whitman, “and will 
bear a little more investigating. Try to 
get an interview with the girl, and endeav- 
or to get clear on her identity. Do not, how- 
ever, be precipitate about the matter, lest 
we lose the trail we are working on. She 
might be an accomplice herself, and if you 
were ever suspected of watching them you 
would be discharged from there forever.” 

When Jones related the incident of the 
drunken boy and what he observed in con- 
nection with the case, then Walter Whit- 
man straightened up and exclaimed: 


110 


The Tragedy of Baden 


“If this be so we have at last cornered 
a consummate scoundrel as well as a dan- 
gerous criminal, and I will now resort to 
more active measures to capture him. Did 
you ascertain this young man’s name, or 
his address?” 

“ No, ” replied J ones , 4 ‘ under the circum- 
stances it was impracticable for me to do 
so without risking my identity at the 
place. ’ ’ 

“ It is well, ’ ’ remarked Whitman ; ‘ 1 pre- 
serve your identity, whatever you do, until 
you are absolutely sure of your game, then 
boldly announce it. Now, return as usual 
to the place, and watch all the movements 
of the proprietor and his wife, and when- 
ever you observe anything important 
again, come and tell me of it. ’ ’ 

Paul J ones went to his place of business 
next day, as usual, and immediately as- 
sumed the listless, dreamy attitude which 
always characterized him while at work. 
Kate came and went, and yet her presence 
never seemed to evoke the slightest degree 
of curiosity on his part. He saw her often 
enough, however, to read her thoroughly. 

Coon’s back was often turned; sometimes 
the proprietor was compelled to be mo- 
mentarily absent from the saloon — on 
which occasions Paul never failed to make 


The Tragedy of Baden 


111 


extended observations. “ She’s a beauti- 
ful girl, and comes from better stock than 
those presiding here. She has been well 
raised by some one, and has a sweet, sad 
face. If I was only certain that she was 
not related in any manner to these two old 
brutes who seem to own this business, I 
would surely interpose my authority and 
rescue her from her horrible surround- 
ings.’ ’ 

On the other hand, Kate had studied the 
face of the assistant, and had casually 
noted his reserved and kindly disposition. 
“He has a good face,” she thought, “and 
an air of gentleness about him. He seems 
entirely different in his manners from all 
around here. I believe he is a gentleman, 
I believe he is a friend. I never see him 
take a drink, nor hear him use an improper 
word. I would like so much to speak to 
him and seek his aid in getting me away 
from here; for now this place has become 
unbearable, and if I thought I had to re- 
main here another month I would court 
death rather than submit to further degra- 
dation and imprisonment. ’ ’ 

The girl began to fade like a tender 
flower too roughly handled. Her usual 
spirits and vivacity had disappeared, and 
in their place a melancholy gloom had 


112 


The Tragedy of Baden 


gathered about her former animated fea- 
tures. In her mechanical performances at 
the piano she seemed to be in a dream. In 
her meanderings amongst the votaries of 
the saloon she always seemed listless and 
wandering mentally on some far-off topic. 
Just as soon as she could be spared from 
the services of her tyrannical owners, she 
would hie herself upstairs to her room and 
sit with folded hands, for several minutes, 
plotting and planning how to shake otf the 
miserable and deceptive yoke which had 
been laid so heavily on her tender neck. 
She was unusually disheartened on this 
particular night, and it was after eleven. 
She had heard Mrs. Coon, that very even- 
ing, make allusion to her further stay in 
her degrading position. She did not catch 
its meaning thoroughly; yet enough had 
been heard to cause her suspicions of pro- 
longed imprisonment to be aroused. She 
had lived for months on the hope of re- 
lease at the end of her contract time. Now 
this hope flickered in the lamp feebly burn- 
ing in her breast. 

“Can it be possible they will keep me 
here beyond my time? Can it be possible 
that I am to be their slave in this iniquity 
forever ?” The addition to The Crescent 
— the dance hall — would be completed with' 


The Tragedy of Baden 


113 


in the next three days, and the place then 
would be thrown open to the vulgar and 
dissipated habitues of the saloon that very 
week ; and she had been told of the part she 
was to play in this advanced degree of 
questionable pleasure. 

“Never!” she said aloud. “I am de- 
termined. My plan is settled. ‘When 
your conscience rebels against a contem- 
plated act, fly from its commission. ’ This 
was the last advice ever poured into my 
ears by an honest being, and I will follow 
it if it leads me to eternity. In all this big 
and broad world there must be hearts pure 
enough and hands strong enough to shield 
an orphan girl. I know not where they 
are, but I will fly from this despicable place 
and seek them.” 


CHAPTER IX 


It was the last day in November, and 
the soft rays of the evening snn made its 
warmth acceptable to all humanity, and the 
passengers of the great western coaster 
had strolled on deck to enjoy the landing 
scene, which was soon to take place. The 
Empress had blown her landing whistle; 
her great blades had ceased their revolu- 
tions, and she was drifting up to her ac- 
customed berth, while a multitude of up- 
turned faces on the shore, including a 
number of detectives, stared eagerly at the 
party of strangers standing aloft ready to 
disembark. Ajmongst the latter, side by 
side, stood Ella Coleman and the drummer. 

“Mr. Benson, you do not know how I 
have enjoyed your company since the even- 
ing I made your acquaintance at Charles- 
ton.’ ’ 

“I suppose I never will, Mrs. Coleman, 
but one thing I do know, and it is this — 
your enjoyment can never equal that of 
mine, nor will it be tinctured with as many 

114 


The Tragedy of Baden 


115 


regrets at parting as I forsee ahead of me 
for many days to come in leaving you.” 

“I will still see you for a while at the 
hotel, though, will I not?” asked the lady. 

4 4 Most assuredly you will, and I am going 
to bring that little girl of yours to you, if 
she can be found in the land. ’ ’ 

“Heaven grant that we may be success- 
ful, Mr. Benson, in our search; and if I do 
succeed I will make you the happiest man 
in America for your disinterested service 
in behalf of me and my child. ’ ’ 

A momentary thrill went through the 
vessel at this instant, as she struck the 
wharf, and Benson, with an armful of bun- 
dles, band-boxes, and animated bird cages, 
led the way ashore, the prima donna of the 
great Italian opera company following 
closely behind him. 

4 4 Take this lady to the Metropolitan , 9 ’ di- 
rected Harry to the hackman, and wait on 
her for further orders.” 

4 4 Will you not go up with me?” she in- 
quired. 

4 4 No, not yet,” was the reply. 4 4 Why, I 
propose to sell a dozen sacks of coffee be- 
fore the sun goes down ; and it may be late 
before you see me. I will meet you, at 
any rate, in the morning, when I hope to 
have the pleasure of joining you and your 


116 


The Tragedy of Baden 


little daughter at the breakfast table. Now, 
see here ! don’t forget what I told you about 
‘ Connecticut Blend.’ Call for it wherever 
you go, won’t you?” 

Mrs. Coleman drove off to the hotel, 
where she registered, secured a comfort- 
able room, and deposited her boxes and 
cages. When this had been accomplished, 
she directed the hackman to drive to the 
orphanage and wait for her there. Harry 
Benson, with his sample case, strolled leis- 
urely on to the business part of the city. 
He was happy over almost everything he 
could think of, and walked along planning 
out the work he had before him for the 
evening. He was conscious that he had 
landed in a territory altogether new to 
him. He was unconscious of the fact 
that he was walking straight into one of the 
most horrible fates that could probably 
ever overtake any human being. And that 
fate then was near at hand. 

He reached the main business thorough- 
fare of Baden, but on its western extremity. 

“Ah, this is Commerce street, and as I 
have some customers to interview residing 
on it, I will saunter along and look out for 
them. ‘ ‘ Why, this is considerable of a city, 
and I should sell these people at least a 
hundred sacks before leaving here.” 


The Tragedy of Baden 


117 


1 1 By the way , 9 9 said Harry , c 1 1 am as dry 
as a chip, and here’s a saloon with an at- 
tractive name to it . 9 9 Saying which he en- 
tered The Crescent. 

There was an air of freshness and buoy- 
ancy about him as he entered, and his ele- 
gant watch charm dangling from an excel- 
lent, well-fitting waistcoat pronounced him 
at once to be a new and well-to-do visitor. 
Old Coon’s murderous eyes spotted him as 
soon as he entered, and he squared him- 
self, prepared for business. 

‘ 1 Have you some fresh beer on hand?” 
asked Harry. 

4 ‘Some just tapped,” answered the pro- 
prietor. 

“Well, I just feel like I could empty a 
schooner,” said Harry. 

“You had better take a seat at the table 
there,” said Coon, “as the beer is fresh and 
it will take a little time to draw it. ’ ’ 

There was no one on the floor at the time, 
and the place seemed inviting. Harry took 
a seat and began figuring in his note-book, 
while Mr. Coon darted off to the side for 
his beer. 

“Wash me out a dozen glasses,” he 
called to his assistant, and in an instant 
later there was a great clatter of tumblers 


118 


The Tragedy of Baden 


as Paul Jones proceeded to comply with 
his master’s demands. 

The beverage was drawn, and the pro- 
prietor himself walked out in front of the 
counter and presented it to his customer. 

4 ‘ Whew ! how sharp it is ! ” exclaimed the 
drummer after he had swallowed it; “why, 
that is the sharpest beer I ever drank in my 
life.” 

“That is because it is so cold,” answered 
the barkeeper; “let me set you a little 
lunch.” Coon immediately placed before 
his visitor a tempting plate of thinly sliced 
Swiss cheese and delicately cut pieces of 
bread. 

“You might bring me a small glass to 
wash this lunch down with,” said the cus- 
tomer. 

It was drawn as directed, and set by his 
plate. There were some flies lingering 
about in the lap of autumn that afternoon, 
and Harry was soon striking out after them 
in all directions. Coon tapped a bell, and 
Kate came forward for instructions. ‘ 4 Get 
your fan, and keep the flies off that gentle- 
man. 9 1 

Harry now began to grow loquacious. 
He soon was on his feet making speeches 
and selling coffee to imaginary customers, 
and his speeches soon became incoherent. 


The Tragedy of Baden 119 

“Move those glasses, Kate, before he 
breaks them.” 

“Kate, Kate, did he say? Why, you 
know me Kate. Kate, Kate, Kentucky 
mustard ! I know you, little girl ! Come and 
go with me, your mama wants you at 
home.” With this Mr. Benson lost his 
balance and fell back in his chair, while his 
head and arms dropped forward across the 
table, and he began to snore audibly and 
hard. 

“That fellow must have been full when 
he came in here, ’ ’ remarked Mr. Coon. 

“It looks that way,” said Paul. 

At the sight before her, Kate fled to her 
room, frantic with horror. 

“We must get him out of here,” said the 
proprietor, “before any one comes in. 
Come here and give me a hand,” said he, 
addressing his assistant. 

The two saloon men, now reinforced by 
Mrs. Coon, carried Benson to the “cooling- 
room,” where they laid him out upon a cot, 
and undertook to make him, as they called 
it, comfortable. 

“He will be all right in an hour or two, 
and you can go back to the bar,” said he 
to Paul. 

The assistant obeyed, and as soon as he 
had resumed his position behind the coun- 


120 


The Tragedy of Baden 


ter, he drew out a book from his pocket, 
snatched a blank leaf from it, and going to 
the spot where his employer had filled the 
glasses he quickly stooped down and 
brushed on to it a small quantity of white 
powder that had fallen from a package 
Coon had in his hand at the moment he 
filled Benson’s order. 

“Well, I have got you this time, ,, said 
Paul, as he wrapped up his powder and 
placed it securely in an envelope, and 
stored it away in his pocket. 

Fortunately for Coon, there had been no 
customers lounging around the saloon at 
the time Benson went under. The hour of 
the unfortunate occurrence was the one 
least devoted to either Bacchus or Gambri- 
nus. The midday loafers had slunken off to 
sleep, and the evening gang had not as then 
crawled in. It was an auspicious hour for 
Mr. and Mrs. King Coon, and they took full 
advantage of its quietude in order to rob 
their over-drugged and now unconscious 
victim. 

“My, though, how white he is !” said the 
lady. 

“Mixed drinks,” replied the gentleman, 
and they riddled his pockets and brushed 
off the cold clammy sweat that now stood 
on the brow of the drummer. 


The Tragedy of Baden 


121 


Twilight came on, and with it the usual 
crowd of those who found bar-rooms more 
conducive to happiness than their own do- 
mestic firesides. Said one of the habitues 
to his companions, “ there’s more peace 
and happiness here than at home. ’ ’ While 
another one smothered the thought that the 
family at home would be happy, at least 
for the night, if they had but a scant loaf of 
bread to ward off their hunger. 

Benson slept in the “cooling-room,” his 
loud and stertorous respirations growing 
more and more inaudible, until a pale still- 
ness settled over his contracted features. 

Mrs. Coon remarked, “we had better get 
him out of here before he dies on our 
hands.” 

Mr. Coon had been thinking this way 
himself for some time. For one to die in 
his bar-room meant a loss of his revenue, 
except in the individual instance of a mur- 
der when the opposite result was sure to 
follow. But this was no murder. A man 
comes into the saloon and dies after drink- 
ing a glass or two of King Coon’s beer. 
There was no gunpowder in it ; nothing at- 
tractive whatever about it, nothing to draw 
a remunerative crowd consequent upon it. 

“We must get this fellow out of here and 
that pretty quick.” And Coon went out in 


122 


The Tragedy of Baden 


the darkness and secured him a hackman 
to haul Harry Benson’s remains to the hos- 
pital. 

“And tell them out there,’ ’ said the bar- 
keeper, “that the man was sick when he 
came here, and grew suddenly worse after 
his arrival.” 

Twilight came on and had passed, and 
the scene in the “cooling-room” became 
more and more grewsome. It looked as 
though Benson would die on their hands. 
There was no music in the hall that even- 
ing, and fortunately but few customers. 
Katy was upstairs in her room, reflecting 
over the harrowing scenes of the afternoon, 
and trembling over the possible outcome of 
her master’s iniquity. Benson was packed 
out through the rear door of the building, 
across the back yard to the alley gate, 
where a carriage was in waiting. 

Coon and the driver, aided by the zealous 
wife of the proprietor, packed the almost 
lifeless body of the drummer along, and 
dumped him in the bottom of the carriage. 

“Now take up a back street,” said Coon, 
“and tell them at the hospital how he came 

While this scene was going on below, Kate 
Coleman — attracted by the shuffling feet — 
peered down from the floor above and 
caught a glimpse of the procession as it 


The Tragedy of Baden 


123 


was moving out. She clearly saw from her 
concealed position the cold, pale face of the 
victim they were carrying out. 

“Great Heavens, they have murdered 
him! ,, she gasped. “I will fly. I will be 
implicated. To the gallows we will all go ! ’ ’ 
They were now in the back yard with the 
drummer, the coast for the moment was 
clear, and the excited girl rushed down- 
stairs, and into the drinking-room, expect- 
ing to escape. 

Paul Jones had taken the precaution to 
close the saloon doors as soon as the room 
was emptied of its visitors, in order to 
avoid calling attention to the proceedings ; 
and now they were all securely fastened. 
Kate rushed into the saloon with her out- 
stretched hands raised above her head, and 
her golden tresses streaming down her 
back. She tried the doors and found them 
locked, and in a fit of desperation she ran 
to Paul and exclaimed in an appealing 
whisper : 

“If you have a spark of manhood in you, 
save me from this living hell ! ’ ? 

In an instant the situation flashed over 
the young man, and he hurriedly replied: 

“Go quick to your room and remain 
there; I will rescue you before another 
night is over. I am your friend.’ ’ 


124 


The Tragedy of Baden 


Kate fled to her room, as directed by 
Paul, and she threw herself across her bed 
in an almost dazed condition. She had 
heard his words, “I will rescue you — I am 
your friend.’ ’ She scarcely knew how to 
interpret them; they were so strange, so 
sudden; so unexpected. “I to be rescued? 
and so soon? He my friend, when I thought 
all the world was against me, can it be true ? 
Has my prayer then been answered?” And 
she clasped her hands together and uttered 
a heartburst of thanks to her Maker. The 
terrible strain of anxiety had been lifted 
from her soul, and she fell to sleep as she 
lay, without even undressing. 


CHAPTER X 

It was eight o’clock at night when the 
hack containing Benson, more dead than 
alive, drove slowly into the hospital yard, 
and the driver reported that he had brought 
up a very sick man to be cared for. Two 
of the students went out and confirmed the 
condition. 

“I should smile,” said Gross, “he is as 
sick a man as they make them. Why didn ’t 
you bring him up in a wagon ? ’ 9 

“Because there was none around at the 
time,” said the driver, “and I just had to 
get him in and bring him along the best 
way I could . 9 9 

“What’s his name?” asked the student. 

“That I don’t know, sir.” 

“Where did you get him from?” 

“Out on West Commerce street.” 

“Well, give us a hand and help us in 
with him.” 

Benson was carried in and laid on a clean 
bed in one of the wards of the hospital. 

“Gee! this fellow’s toney,” remarked 

125 


126 The Tragedy of Baden 

Harris; “look at that watch-chain and 
pin.” 

“Go call Doc. or he will be dead before 
he can get here.” 

Pretty soon the house doctor put in an 
appearance. He was the apple of Doctor 
Ketchum’s eye, and held his position in the 
hospital owing mainly to this fact. Doc. 
was a nice fellow, though, and had the 
credit of being wiser than he looked. 

“Go quick as you can,” said the doctor 
to Gross, “and put up this prescription; 
the man is almost dead, while I send a mes- 
senger out to hunt up Dr. Ketchum . 9 y 

The preceptor had a routine, though he- 
roic form of treatment for such cases, 
which he had impressed upon his pupils, 
and they immediately and zealously set 
about to carry out this practice in the case 
of Benson. They had likewise been taught 
that in the event of failing in the use of 
such remedies it was useless to look else- 
where for relief. 

Gross ran to get the medicine, while 
Grant and Harris busied themselves in 
getting their patient undressed and ready 
for dosing. 

The medicine was soon obtained, for it 
usually stood ready in the hospital drug 


The Tragedy of Baden 


127 


store for administration, and by heroic ef- 
forts Benson was made to swallow it. 

“What’s the matter with him, Doc., any- 
how?” Gross asked. 

“I don’t know,” Doc. answered; “but 
let’s pack him around with hot water, for 
he feels mighty cold to me. ’ ’ 

The three students all ran for the water, 
and soon had their insensible victim fairly 
blistered with bottles of hot water well 
packed up against him. The students had 
now about reached their wits’ end, and 
were standing about, commenting on their 
patient’s condition, and on his personal ap- 
pearance, when Doctor Ketchum arrived. 

“Why, what’s this you have got here?” 

“That’s what we are waiting for you to 
tell us, Doc.,” replied Harris. 

“Why, it’s a case of ‘congestion,’ of 
course,” remarked Ketchum. “Where did 
he come from ? ’ ’ 

The boys told all they knew, and added : 
“We have gone through his pockets, but he 
had nothing about him except some letters, 
and an identification card, and this watch 
and society badge.” 

“Did you give him our medicine?” in- 
quired Dr. Ketchum. 

“You bet your bottom dollar we did,” 
said Harris, chewing gum. 


128 


The Tragedy of Baden 


“Well, if that don’t bring him around, 
nothing in the world will. But he seems 
pretty low, and his pulse is mighty weak; 
we will wait on the medicine a while and 
see what it does for him. Put his name 
on the register, and take care of his effects, 
for they will surely be called for. ’ ’ 

Dr. Ketchum slept at the hospital that 
night, and divided most of his time by oc- 
casional glances at Benson, and in dealing 
out wisdom to the students. 

“Medicine is a noble science,” he in- 
formed them, “and there is always satis- 
faction in its results when you feel that 
you have done your best, even though your 
patients may sometimes die. The young 
man who selects medicine as a profession 
can never be wrong ; and a good doctor can 
drop down anywhere and always make a 
living where other men would starve. It 
is, moreover, an exalted calling ; people all 
respect you, and the confidence that some 
women place in their family physician is 
beyond the comprehension of man . 9 9 

“How’s that, Gross, for a starter?” 
asked Grant. 

“It’s the brightest feature I see in medi- 
cine,” said Gross. 

A watch was set by Benson for the night, 
with instructions what to do ; and by mid- 


The Tragedy of Baden 


129 


night every one in the building, including 
the watchman, was buried in sleep. 

While the students and Dr. Ketchum 
were working away on Mr. Benson, and 
endeavoring in their crude yet honest meth- 
ods to call back "his waning life, the little 
office of Walter Whitman, detective, was 
also the scene of unusual animation, as the 
occupants unfolded their plans for the next 
evening. 

“From the very fact,” said Whitman, 
“that the girl appealed to you for relief, 
is proof sufficient that she is held there 
against her will ; undoubtedly she has been 
abducted, and this presupposes unlawful 
methods. You are positive that you saw 
the proprietor draw from his pocket a pack- 
age of some kind and empty its contents 
into the glass which he offered to the vis- 
itor ? ’ ’ 

“I would swear to it,” answered Paul; 
‘ ‘ and furthermore, I have a sample of what 
he threw into the glass at the time. ’ ’ 

Jones then drew from his pocket the en- 
velope and handed the sample to Whitman. 
The detective carefully examined the tiny 
white powder that Paul gave him. 

‘ ‘ Give it to me ; I will know very soon 
what it is. And since the man you speak 
of succumbed shortly after he took it, and 


330 


The Tragedy of Baden 


was sent to the hospital later on, more dead 
than alive, I think we can now reasonably 
hold the proprietor responsible for its ef- 
fects, as well as for some other transactions 
I have noted against him of late, an account 
of all of which I have filed away here in 
this office.” 

Walter Whitman walked up and down in 
his office for fully three minutes, and then 
turned to Paul with this statement : 

“He has a gun in the drawer, has he 
not?” 

“Yes,” said Paul, “and he has every 
chamber of it loaded . 9 9 

“Very well,” said the detective. “He 
will go to his supper at seven. Now I want 
you to unload his gun for me when he goes 
out. I want you to take these dummies and 
substitute them for the cartridges he has 
in his pistol. He will need, and will prob- 
ably use his gun, some time to-morrow 
evening; and if he does so, I would prefer 
being fired at by blanks instead of by bul- 
lets. Take this cylinder. You say his is 
a 48 ? Then take out his cylinder, slip this 
one in, and he may shoot until doomsday 
without hurting anybody. 

“Now listen , 9 9 said Whitman. ‘ 1 I am go- 
ing to rescue that girl at any Imzard, and 
I am going to do it effectively. There’s 


The Tragedy of Baden 


131 


not going to be any time for injunctions 
about it. I want her evidence, and I am 
going to get it so quickly and so completely 
that neither Coon nor his accomplice wife 
will have any time to interpose an objec- 
tion, except with his pistol. 

“Now you understand what you are to 
do? You are to exchange these dummies 
I gave you for the cartridges in Coon’s pis- 
tol. I will be there to-morrow, between 
seven and eight o’clock, and with others, 
but you will not know me. I will call on 
you at the cigar end of the counter, and 
will ask you for the bundle I left there that 
day, and if everything is all right, you will 
hand me Coon’s cylinder, wrapped up in 
paper ; and if things are not right, you have 
only to say, ‘I will have it here for you in 
the morning. ’ There ’s nothing simpler than 
this ; and if you are successful you may ex- 
pect your lights to go out soon after; at 
which time we will effect the object of my 
visit. Do you understand the program now 
thoroughly?” 

“I do,” answered Paul. 

It was twelve o ’clock when this interview 
ended, and at the same hour Dr. Ketchum 
arose from his bed and went down to look 
at his patient. 


132 


The Tragedy of Baden 


“Pm afraid he’s gone,” said the doctor; 
“but watch him well, nurse, and if any 
great change either way should occur come 
at once and inform me.” 

On the following morning Harry Benson 
lay on his little white cot in the hospital, 
barely alive. His pulse now was scarcely 
perceptible at the wrist, and the entire med- 
ical staff of the institution stood silent 
around him. 

“If I could get him to swallow,” re- 
marked Dr. Ketchum, “I would give him 
another round of medicine.” 

“The medicine might cure him,” said 
Harris, “but its administration would cer- 
tainly kill him.” 

“There’s but one thing, gentlemen,” said 
Dr. Ketchum, “that might bring him 
around, and that’s brandy. We will give 
him about six ounces of brandy, and it will 
afford you all a good opportunity to see the 
application of the stomach tube. Bring me 
a bottle of spiritus vini gal., and the stom- 
ach tube. ’ ’ 

The order was no sooner given than 
obeyed, and Dr. Ketchum, after an awk- 
ward effort to get the tube introduced, pro- 
ceeded to pour six ounces of old French 
brandy through it. 

“Now,” said the Professor of Practice, 


The Tragedy of Baden 133 

“if this does not bring him around, nothing 
else will.” 

“ Would you be keeping those hot bottles 
to him any longer?” inquired the nurse. 

“ No ; you can take them away, ’ ’ respond- 
ed the Doctor. 

The bottles, now full of cold water, were 
removed, but a dozen well-filled blebs and 
blisters on the patients body demonstrated 
the powerful force of the remedy. 

“Now, boys, I must go,” said the pre- 
ceptor, “and if he dies, as he will do, write 
out his certificate, and have him buried . ’ 9 

The last remedy soon began to exercise 
its influence. Given in the enormous quan- 
tity in which it was administered, it added 
to, instead of counteracting, the deep seda- 
tion of the patient. His pulse soon after 
this became imperceptible, and his respira- 
tions so shallow that they could not be rec- 
ognized by anyone around. Dr. Ketchum 
had scarcely left the building when a vis- 
itor called at the hospital, and asked if he 
could see the gentleman who was brought 
in the night before. 

“He is dead,” said the house doctor. 

“ Oh ! indeed ! I am sorry , 9 9 said the vis- 
itor, “for I wanted to see him.” 

“Well, come in,” said the young doctor. 
“We have not removed him yet.” 


134 


The Tragedy of Baden 


“ Thanks.’ ’ 

Walter Whitman went in and viewed the 
body for a few minutes. 

“Did he have any effects on him when 
he came in?” 

“No; none but some letters and his 
watch. ’ 9 

“No money in any of his pockets V 9 

“None whatever.” 

“Did you examine carefully for any?” 

“We surely did, as soon as he got here.” 

“And what name was he entered un- 
der?” 

“Harry Benson, drummer, New York.” 

“I am much obliged to you, gentlemen. 
By the wav, what disease did he die of ? ” 

4 ‘ Congestion , 9 9 said the house doctor. 

Whitman left, and twenty minutes later 
the coroner came with six men and viewed 
the body. Then the testimony of all the 
students was taken, and the inquest was ad- 
journed until later in the day. 


CHAPTER XI 


In spite of the terrible warning to “go 
slow, ’ ’ received by King Coon on the even- 
ing before, the doors of his saloon were 
thrown open, and the people came and 
went, and the drinks were passed aronnd, 
as nsual. 

“They’ll have a hard time proving that 
I killed him,” muttered Coon to his wife. 
“Our oaths are just as good as theirs, and 
dead men tell no tales. I have been in worse 
scrapes than this, and lived through them ; 
and now you all get down to business and 
make yourselves useful. Where’s that 
girl ? ’ ’ 

Katy was a little late in coming down 
that evening ; a dull indiff erence had come 
over her ; she had grown desperate and de- 
termined. He had done his worst, she 
thought. He had abused and threatened 
her repeatedly. If he dared go further she 
would run into the streets and cry for help. 
Katy came down shortly after eight ; there 
were men about the place. She took no no- 
135 


136 


The Tragedy of Baden 


tice of them, but seated herself at the piano 
and played some rapid bar-room music. 
0 Mloolyhan came to the door with his club, 
and looked in a minute, and then passed on. 
Paul Jones leaned back on the cigar case, 
and alternately drew glasses of beer or 
mixed cocktails, as they were respectively 
called for. 

Two men, apparently sailors, came in and 
sought a table remote from the door, and 
asked for beer and the dominoes. Then 
shortly afterward two more, in the garb of 
plain, honest workmen, came in, and seated 
themselves near the front entrance. Kate 
was called to assist at the tables. 

“Take this order to number three / ’ said 
the barkeeper, and she did so. 

The men looked at her momentarily and 
then proceeded to sip the contents of their 
glasses. She returned to the piano and re- 
sumed her playing, her golden hair clasped 
behind her snow-white shoulders with a sil- 
ver comb. Old Pat poked his round, red 
face in again, and looked around, then 
passed along. It was nine o’clock by this 
time, and the crowd had thinned out. The 
thirsty had been quenched, and they saun- 
tered off. Old Coon wore a deep and stolid 
air upon his face, and with his arms folded 
across his broad chest looked down upon 


The Tragedy of Baden 137 

his customers with an air of brutal satis- 
faction. 

Then two hoys came in and called for 
drinks and dominoes, and the proprietor 
asked them to be seated while he waited on 
them. At this moment one of the two men 
seated near the door arose and went to the 
cigar stand. Paul was standing there, and 
he was asked, 4 4 Have you the bundle I left 
here to-day V 7 

The young man started back, stared an 
instant, recovered himself, and answered: 
4 4 Yes ; here it is, ’ ’ as he handed the inquirer 
a very small package. 

Then the strange man aimlessly strolled 
about the room, looking first at one set of 
drinkers, then at another, and finally he 
sauntered over to where Kate was playing. 
He stood between her and the open door, 
and seemed to be reading her music as she 
played. She paid no attention to him what- 
ever. It was a common occurrence for men 
to come about her and attempt to sing while 
she was playing, and she thought nothing 
of it. A quarrel arose between the men 
playing dominoes near the 4 4 cooling- 
room. ’ ’ High words ensued between them 
over the game, and the two arose for a scuf- 
fle, and while settling their dispute they 
overturned the table, the glasses, and the 


138 


The Tragedy of Baden 


dominoes. It made a great clatter, and 
King Coon ran to them to put them out of 
the saloon. As he did so every light in 
the room went out, and a scramble was 
heard, and a scream went up at the piano. 
Coon’s suspicions were instantly aroused. 
In the vernacular of the day, he “caught 
on. ’ ’ There was a terrible scamper for the 
doors, and Coon darted for his revolver, 
and seizing it, fired rapidly three shots at 
the dark forms hurrying out of the door 
nearest the piano. 

“They are robbing me!” he exclaimed. 
“Turn on the lights!” It required but a 
moment to turn on the meter and to strike 
matches, and for Paul and himself to light 
up again. As soon as the light was restored 
King Coon exclaimed : 4 ‘ This is hell ! Do 
you know anything about it!” 

Mrs. Coon rushed in, exclaiming: 

“What’s the matter! What’s the mat- 
ter!” 

“Those scoundrels have robbed me, but 
I’ve got some of them, and I’ll see the bal- 
ance hung!” 

He had scarcely finished the sentence 
when Patrick O’Hoolyhan stepped in, and 
going straight up to the proprietor, said : 

“Coon, you are my prisoner!” 

‘ ‘ The hell I am ! I’d like to see you take 


The Tragedy of Baden 


139 


me ! ’ ’ As lie said this he ran for his gun, 
and Mrs. Coon ran for a knife with which 
to assist him. 

“The gamers np, Coon. Surrender and 
go to jail!” said Paul Jones, emphatically, 
closing on the outraged barkeeper. 

The saloon was full of people by this 
time, attracted by the noise. 

“What have you got to do with it, you 
scoundrel?” shouted Coon. 

“Here’s my authority,” said Jones, 
throwing back his coat and displaying a 
silver badge; “and if that’s not sufficient, 
this is ! ” and he shoved a loaded six-shoot- 
er into his companion’s face. “You are 
caught up with at last. ’ ’ 

Coon made a show of resistance and fired 
his pistol, but the powerful grip of Paul 
and 0 ’Hoolyhan was now set upon him like 
a vise, and in another instant they had the 
cuffs upon him 

“Don’t be afraid, little girl. We are 
friends here to rescue you,” exclaimed 
Walter Whitman, in a low, gentle voice, as 
he hurried out of the bar-room with his 
trembling charge. 

“Oh! thanks, sir, thanks!” replied the 
girl, too frightened at the suddenness of 
her seizure and the pistol shots to utter 
any lengthened sentence. 


140 


The Tragedy of Baden 


‘ ‘ Are yon his daughter ? 9 9 

“No; they stole me.” 

Then Whitman called to the patrolman 
lingering near, and said : “Go and arrest 
them both ; take them to the station, and I 
will file the charges.” 

A carriage was standing at the end of 
the block, and before the lights had been 
turned on at The Crescent again, Whitman 
and Kate Coleman were speeding away to- 
ward the detective’s office. 


CHAPTER XII 


Fkom the steamer Ella Coleman had been 
driven to the Metropolitan, where she ar- 
ranged for her stay, and then ordered the 
hackman to go straight to the orphanage. 
The town had changed in her absence ; new 
buildings by the hundreds had been erected 
during the past seven years, and most of 
the old landmarks had been pulled away 
or else metamorphosed beyond her recog- 
nition. She arrived at the orphanage build- 
ing, full of maternal anxiousness for her 
only child. 4 4 Is she there at all? Is she 
living or dead?” She scarcely waited for 
the invitation to enter, but rushed impetu- 
ously into the little parlor. 

4 4 My child ! ’ ’ she asked. 4 4 Is she here ? ’ 9 

4 4 Your name, please.” 

4 4 My daughter’s name was Kate Cole- 
man.” 

4 4 Oh!” said the Sister, a novice at the 
place, 44 I will call the Mother.” 

4 4 That argues ill,” said Mrs. Coleman. 
4 4 Were she here that novice would have 
told me so.” 


141 


142 


The Tragedy of Baden 


The Superior came in in a minute. The 
two women eyed each other for an instant, 
and then rushed together to each other’s 
arms, for their delight was mutual. 

“My daughter — Mother, is she living?” 

“Yes, I hope so, madam.” 

Then the two sat close together while the 
Superior related all that she could recollect 
of Katy and her adopted parents. 

“They brought excellent credentials,” 
said the Superior, “and I let Katy go. We 
have often tried to trace the family, but 
never have been able to locate them. Mrs. 
King, residing near Bristol, was the ad- 
dress she furnished.” 

Fully half an hour was spent at the or- 
phanage, when Mrs. Coleman departed and 
ordered her coachman to drive to the tele- 
graph station. She wired the postmaster 
at Bristol: “Is there anyone residing in 
your county named King? Answer at my 
expense.” 

‘ ‘ I need hardly expect a reply before late, 
and probably none before morning,” she 
thought. She then drove to the hotel, ex- 
pecting to meet Mr. Benson; but Mr. Ben- 
son had not registered, nor could he be 
found about the place. She sat up until 
twelve o’clock that night, hoping that he 
might yet call at the parlor. 


The Tragedy of Baden 


143 


“This is strange,’ ’ she said, “yet busi- 
ness men are often delayed at their work. 
He intimated that he would meet me at the 
breakfast table in the morning ; that shows 
he did not expect to turn in early to-night. ’ ’ 

While she was wondering over the un- 
expected absence of her new acquaintance, 
whom she looked upon by this time as her 
‘ ‘ friend in need , 9 9 other important transac- 
tions were taking place in different sections 
of the city, and, wearied with waiting and 
watching, the anxious mother retired to 
rest. 

Mrs. Coleman arose next morning, re- 
freshed after her slumber of the preceding 
night, and happy with pleasant anticipa- 
tions for the coming day. My child lives, 
and I will be able to locate her, probably, 
before the sun goes down.” 

She stayed longer than the usual time 
before her beveled mirror, putting on extra 
touches to a naturally beautiful face and 
figure. 

“And yet why should I be so particular? 
I doubt if he cares a farthing for me, out- 
side the feeling of a friend. It almost seems 
ridiculous in me primping for a man so 
many years my junior — yet not so much, 
either — only four and a half years; that’s 
easily compensated for. I really believe 


144 


The Tragedy of Baden 


I love him, though, in spite of his age. To 
say the least, he is charming and refined, 
and I have money enough to make us both 
comfortable for years to come. But no; 
this cannot be ! He ’s an engaged man ; he 
has told me all about his affianced; she is 
a beautiful and fortunate girl. I will waive 
any hope I may have nurtured. I will make 
the sacrifice, as hard as it may seem — I will 
not hope.” 

There is no telling how long these bat- 
tling sentiments would have lasted, as the 
beautiful singer stood arranging her hair 
and coloring her cheeks, had not a strange 
voice, followed by a stranger face, inter- 
rupted her reverie. 

4 4 Mum, can I get in here to clean up your 
room?” 

4 4 Why,” asked Mrs. Coleman, 4 4 is it so 
late as all that?” 

4 4 Sure, mum, it’s nine o’clock, and break- 
fast’s most over.” 

4 4 Well, come in; I’ll be out in a minute. 
By the way, while waiting don’t you want 
to make a quarter of a dollar?” 

4 4 Is it honest, mum?” inquired the maid. 

4 4 Why, of course,” was the reply. 44 I 
never deal in any other kind of bargains.” 

4 4 Sure, mum. What is it?” 

4 4 Well, here; will you go to the office be- 


The Tragedy of Baden 


145 


low and inquire if this gentleman is in the 
house ?” handing the servant a card. 

“Mum, if I was caught off this floor be- 
fore twelve o’clock I would be discharged. 
Push that thing in the wall there by you, 
and ye can get anything ye wants in the 
house. Is he your husband?” inquired the 
maid. 

“Only a friend I expected to meet here 
at breakfast.” 

“And sure, there won’t be any breakfast 
for you at all if ye don’t get there in five 
minutes. ’ ’ 

Mrs. Cgleman clasped the lids of her jew- 
elry casket together, and placing her treas- 
ures in her trunk, hurried down stairs and 
into the dining-room, under the impression 
that Mr. Benson had grown weary of wait- 
ing and had preceded her to the table and 
gone off to his work. She was not, there- 
fore, surprised to find him absent from the 
room, and seating herself at a table she 
hurriedly dispatched a light breakfast. 

After she had finished her meal Mrs. 
Coleman went to the office of the hotel and 
inquired if Mr. Benson was about the build- 
ing, and the clerk informed her that the 
gentleman had not as yet registered. “Al- 
though/’ said he, “his trunk came up yes- 


146 


The Tragedy of Baden 


terday afternoon and has been laying here 
uncalled for ever since. ’ ’ 

The lady was a little surprised, but the 
clerk informed her that such occurrences 
frequently took place, especially in the case 
of traveling men, who often failed to fol- 
low their baggage upon its delivery for a 
day or two. ‘ ‘ When he comes I will inform 
him of your inquiry, and let you know of 
his arrival.’ ’ 

While she was thus engaged with the ho- 
tel clerk a Western Union messenger boy 
came in and handed her the following tele- 
gram : 

“No person named King has resided in 
this county for twenty years. 

“Alb. Johnson, P. M.” 

Mrs. Coleman started at the announce- 
ment. She had expected different intelli- 
gence. A world of conjectures flashed 
through her mind. ‘ ‘ Here is a deception at 
the outset. No person named King ever 
lived in the county. Yet those who carried 
off my child gave Bristol as their resi- 
dence. 1 9 

From conjectures suspicions arose, and 
out of suspicions sprang determination. 
She ran upstairs and adjusted her hat ; then 
ordered a carriage. 

“Take me to the orphanage,” she di- 


The Tragedy of Baden 


147 


rected, and the hackman drove immediately 
to that institution. The Superior was called 
out again, and Mrs. Coleman communicated 
her information from the postmaster at 
Bristol. 

An air of concern now gathered about the 
faces of the ladies. 

“There would appear to be something 
wrong about the K ings. Evidently a false 
domicile has been given me , 9 9 said the nun. 
“And this now accounts for the numerous 
letters returned to me from that post office, 
uncalled for. Since a deception has been 
detected I would advise that we go together 
to the Bishop and ask him about these peo- 
ple, since he so warmly recommended 
them.” 

“Your suggestion , 9 9 said Mrs. Coleman, 
“is a good one; and as I have my carriage 
here we will use it for that purpose. You 
know him well, Mother, do you not?” 

“Yes, although we do not meet oftener 
than once a year.” 

After a few minutes of preparation the 
two ladies drove to the Bishop’s residence 
and called for him. 

“He is not in at present,” answered the 
housekeeper. “He is away in the coun- 
try, but we expect him back here at eight 
o’clock this evening.” 


148 


The Tragedy of Baden 


“Are you sure lie will be back at that 
hour ? ’ ’ she was asked. 

‘ ‘ Oh, yes, ma ’am he only left this morn- 
ing, and he has business to transact here 
as soon as he returns.” 

This was a long time to wait for the in- 
telligence sought. Both women now were 
painfully interested in the Bishop’s ex- 
pected information. 

“How can I kill time until eight 
o’clock?” asked Mrs. Coleman. 

“Come and stay with me, dear, until 
then,” answered the Superior, “and we 
will try and brighten the hours for you un- 
til he comes. ’ ’ 

4 ‘ Mother, you stated that the mayor also 
furnished a testimonial for Mrs. King, did 
you not?” 

“Yes,” was the reply “and his recom- 
mendation influenced me very much in the 
disposition of your daughter.” 

“Let us then go to his office and see 
him, ’ ’ requested Mrs. Coleman. 

The couple then hurried away to his 
honor, and found him engaged, but they 
soon obtained an audience with that digni- 
tary, and the ladies communicated the ob- 
ject of their mission. The mayor looked 
a little surprised when the question of his 
recommendation was sprung upon him. 


The Tragedy of Baden 


149 


“ Really ,’ 9 said he, “I have no recollec- 
tion of ever having given snch a testimo- 
nial. I know a family or two by that name 
living here in the city, but none of them 
ever called on me for such a purpose. It 
is barely possible that I may have given 
such, but I do believe, and I am almost cer- 
tain, that I never gave any such recommen- 
dation as you refer to. It is barely possi- 
ble, moreover, that someone has duped the 
orphanage in order to get a girl to work 
for them.” 

This information and conjecture wrought 
Mrs. Coleman up to a high degree of excite- 
ment. There arose in her imagination a 
strong suspicion of fraud, and she coupled 
it with forebodings of a most horrible na- 
ture. 

‘ ‘ My child ! my child ! Where are you, and 
how living V 9 

“ Ladies/ ’ said the mayor, “let us hope 
for the best. There are families by the 
name of King in this city, and I will send 
to each place for you and ascertain, if pos- 
sible, if your missing child may not be with 
some of them. Now suppose you two return 
to your homes until I make this investiga- 
tion, when I will report to you.” 

It was four o’clock in the afternoon when 
Mrs. Coleman received a note from the 


150 


The Tragedy of Baden 


mayor saying tie had sent to every person 
in the city answering to the name of King, 
and so far none of them knew of the girl 
in question. 

“I would suggest,” added the mayor, 
“that if you do not hear something definite 
through the Bishop when he returns to- 
night, you had better place your case in the 
hands of Mr. Walter Whitman, detective, 
who, no doubt, could assist you.” 

“Walter Whitman! Why, I know him! 
He was a friend of my late husband, and 
was prominent in the trial of the man who 
took his life. Walter Whitman is a friend, 
and I will go and lay my case before him. ’ 9 

Mrs. Coleman had risen to go to the de- 
tective ’s office when someone rapped at the 
door. She hastened to see who it was. 

“The clerk sent this paper up to you, 
and said read this here notice. ’ ’ The bell- 
boy pointed to a paragraph encircled by a 
pencil line in blue, and pulled the door af- 
ter him as he went out. 

“Harry Benson, a commercial traveler 
from New York, was taken suddenly ill with 
congestion, on West Commerce street, last 
night, and was taken to the City Hospital 
for treatment. Since his removal to the 
hospital The Echo learns that Mr. Benson 
died.” 


The Tragedy of Baden 


151 


Had a thunderbolt struck Mrs. Coleman 
she could not have been more surprised, 
more horrified, more paralyzed. She tot- 
tered to her bed, and threw herself across 
it, nearly fainting. 

i ‘ What ! Can it be ! Is it possible ! Where 
am I, anyhow? Harry Benson dead — and 
so soon ! I saw him but yesterday — youth- 
ful, handsome, and happy. He promised 
to meet me here at this hotel to-day, and 
now he is dead ! This explains his absence. 
What does it mean? How did it happen? 
At the City Hospital! This accounts for 
his non-appearance. Oh! I have judged 
him wrongly ! Poor girl ! It will break her 
heart ! I will follow him. I will seek those 
who saw him. I will go to the hospital and 
learn it alL ,, 

“Drive me quickly to the hospital !” she 
said to a hackman on the outside. 

The carriage door was slammed on her, 
and the coachman cracked his whip, and 
the now wrought-up woman was hurried 
away to the hospital. 

“Boys,” said Harris, “there comes a 
stunning widow.” 

“How do you know it’s a widow?” in- 
quired Gross, rushing to the window. 

“By the way she’s dressed. Can’t you 


152 


The Tragedy of Baden 


tell ’em across the street, by this time?” 
responded Harris. 

“I wish to see the physician in charge of 
this hospital,” said Mrs. Coleman. 

“Madam,” said Harris, “the physician 
in charge is away at the present moment, 
but maybe I could answer in his place. ’ ’ 

“I see by the evening paper,” said the 
lady, “that a Mr. Benson was brought here 
last evening, and died here from the effects 
of congestion.” 

“It is true, madam,” said Harris. “He 
died, but we did all that science could sug- 
gest to save him. ’ 9 

“May I see his remains?” asked Mrs. 
Coleman. 

“You might, with pleasure,” said Har- 
ris, “but the fact is the remains of the gen- 
tleman have been buried . 9 9 

1 ‘ What ! So soon ! ’ 9 she exclaimed. 

“Six hours dead,” said Harris, “we gen- 
erally send them out after that.” 

“Where was he buried?” she inquired. 

‘ ‘ In the city cemetery, I expect , 9 9 she was 
told. 

“Did he leave any effects behind him?” 
she inquired. 

“Nothing but some letters and his 
watch.” 


The Tragedy of Baden 153 

4 'Are you related to him?” asked Har- 
ris. 

"No; only a friend,” was the reply. 

"Well, madam,” responded Harris, "his 
remains were just sent out to the cemetery, 
and he is buried by this time. How would 
you like to go out and see his grave?” 

' ' I will do so at once, ’ ’ said the widow. 

"If you have no objections, I will go out 
with you and show you the place,” said 
Harris. 

"I thank you, sir. You are a stranger 
to me,” said Mrs. Coleman. "I will go 
there alone.” 

The cemetery was fully two miles from 
the hospital, and it was now nearly five, 
nearly sundown. Hurriedly she drove to 
the silent city of the dead, and was fortu- 
nate in catching the old sexton just as he 
was leaving the grounds. 

"You have just buried a young man from 
the hospital!” she exclaimed. "Have you 
not?” 

"I have, ma’am just got through with 
him. ’ ’ 

"Would you be kind enough to let me see 
his grave?” she asked. 

"Just this way, then, ma’am. Here it 
is.” 

There was a new made and unmarked 


154 The Tragedy of Baden 

mound. Old Clayton pointed it out and re- 
marked : 

‘ 4 There is the grave, ma’am, you are 
looking for.” 

Mrs. Coleman stood a full minute in mel- 
ancholy contemplation near the grave. 

“Poor boy!” she murmured. “Not a 
soul near you to say good-bye. No one to 
follow you here but a stranger! Sweet 
memory, farewell ! Sad hearts bowed down 
at this loss be comforted! How strange, 
how inscrutable the laws of nature — the 
ways of Providence ! ’ 9 

“Did you know him?” asked the sexton. 

“Yes,” replied the widow, as she stood, 
pale and tearful. “Will you mark his 
grave?” she asked. 

“Oh, yes. I number them all.” 

“Well, here’s ten dollars. Put a slab, 
engraved ‘H. B.’ upon it, near his head. 
Some day his remains may be called for, 
and his grave then can be identified. ’ ’ 

She dropped a sprig of cedar on Harry’s 
grave and turned away. Then she went to 
another section of the cemetery and stood 
by a grass-covered mound. 1 1 That ’s Frank 
Coleman’s grave,” said the sexton. 

“Yes, I know it,” she replied. “Will 
you put it in order?” 


The Tragedy of Baden 155 

“I will, ma’am. It will cost you three 
dollars, but it will be well done.” 

“ She handed him a five-dollar bill. ‘ ‘ Put 
it in good order. And now it is late — I 
must go.” 

“Yes,” said the sexton, “we don’t often 
have ladies here at this hour.” 

Mrs. Coleman rode back to the hotel. 

“I will go there and rest until eight. I 
will also wire his affianced at Charleston. 
She might come. I would pay her expenses 
to have her here. ’ ’ And she sent a dispatch 
through to Nellie, and gave her the news in 
a nutshell. 

Nellie’s heart was crushed at the news, 
and she went to her room and remained 
there for the balance of the evening, pros- 
trated with sorrow. Next morning Mrs. Bly 
sought out Mr. Cheek, the insurance agent, 
and told him of Mr. Benson’s death. 

“I will wire for the proof,” Cheek re- 
plied, “for my company prides itself on 
its promptness in paying its claims. ’ ’ And 
he said to himself : 1 1 She’s a beautiful girl, 
the one he left as his beneficiary, and now 
he is gone I will lay siege to her heart my- 
self and now is the right time to do so.” 

Cheek kept the wires to Baden warm that 
morning, and by noon he had all the proof 


156 


The Tragedy of Baden 


he needed to substantiate Harry Benson’s 
death. It cost over five dollars to get all 
the proper acknowledgments. Then he went 
to the Bly residence and said: “Mr. Ben- 
son has not been dead a day yet, and I am 
here now to pay you his insurance.” 

4 4 Why, Mr. Cheek, would you talk to me 
upon such a mercenary subject so soon?” 

“Well, Miss Bly, it’s a pride with us to 
settle these matters as soon as we can. 
There’s a one thousand dollar check at your 
command, as soon as you sign a receipt for 
it.” 

“No, Mr. Cheek, I could never be so 
heartless as to take a dollar under such cir- 
cumstances. It shall never be said that 
Nellie Bly dressed and lived on the insur- 
ance of her dead lover. I will have nothing 
whatever to do with it. ’ ’ 

“Miss Bly, you are blind to your own in- 
terests, and actually throwing away one 
thousand dollars by your false sentiment. 
If you won’t have the claim, and do not 
wish to be connected in any way whatever 
with it, then sign this paper and turn the 
policy over to me, and I will give you my 
personal check for five hundred dollars. ’ ’ 
“Turn it over to my mother,” said Nel- 
lie, “for I will have no money obtained in 
such a manner.” 


The Tragedy of Baden 


157 


Cheek gave Mrs. Bly his personal check 
for $500, for, and in consideration of the 
surrendering of the policy, and went off, 
feeling that he had made a profit of nearly 
that much in the transaction. And Mrs. 
Bly immediately went down to the bank and 
collected the check, and gave all of the 
money to Nellie. 

“Now,” said Cheek, “I have executed 
a masterpiece of business and social diplo- 
macy, and am five hundred dollars ahead.” 


CHAPTER XIII 


Supper hour came on at the Metropoli- 
tan, but Mrs. Coleman had not the slightest 
inclination for her meal. “I will stay where 
I am until eight, and then I will call on 
the Bishop. Well, what a day I have had, 
what a world of emotions have rushed 
through my soul since this time yesterday? 
What a change has transpired, and where 
will it end? What will I next hear?” 

Another rap at the door, and she opened 
it. 

“Mum, I called to leave you some tow- 
els.” And the chambermaid filled up the 
rack, and turning to the lady, inquired: 
“Did he come yet, mum, the gentleman you 
were looking for this morning?” 

“No, my good woman. The gentleman 
I was looking for died in the hospital this 
morning. ’ 9 

“Holy murder ! ’ ’ exclaimed the chamber- 
maid. ‘ ‘ How did he do it ? ” 

“That is all I can tell you, my good 
woman. He landed here, well, from the 
steamer yesterday, and I last saw him at 
168 


The Tragedy of Baden 159 

the landing about four o’clock. He prom- 
ised to be here for breakfast, and now he 
is buried.” 

‘ ‘ Sure, he must be the one Pat was tell- 
ing me of, when he came in this morning . 9 9 

‘ ‘Who is Pat?” inquired Mrs. Coleman. 

“ Why, I thought everybody knowed Pat- 
rick O’Hoolyhan. He is the night police- 
man on West Commerce street, and the best 
on the force.” 

“What did he tell you?” 

“Why, he told me how they took a man 
from old Coon’s to the hospital, more dead 
than alive for his liquor. ’ ’ 

Mrs. Coleman started. “That horrible 
name! Can it be? No! impossible!” she 
said to herself. “Mrs. Hoolyhan, it could 
not have been my friend, he was a gentle- 
man, and never frequented such places.” 

“Sure, mum, they all be gentlemen that’s 
been hauled out from that place o’ late. My 
Pat passes there every night, and sees them 
go in and out ; and the lady, too, mum, what 
waits on the bar, and tells me about it next 
day. And he told me at dinner how they 
did have him by the detective all day telling 
them what he knew; and he said to me, 
* Margaret, there’s going to be fun at old 
Coon’s to-night, but don’t breathe it to any- 
body, or I’ll lose me place on the force.’ I 


160 


The Tragedy of Baden 


might tell you more, mum, and about the 
lady, if I had the time,” said Margaret 
O ’Hoolvhan, as she stood before the prima 
donna, laden down with towels for the 
rooms on her floor, “for I knows a great 
deal; but I haven ’t the time.” 

Could the interview just related have 
taken place twenty hours sooner it is prob- 
able that the strangest and weirdest scene 
that ever occurred in Baden might have 
been averted. 

Mrs. Coleman threw her head upon a pil- 
low and lay in a fever of excitement and 
anxiety. “This waiting is terrible; this 
uncertainty unbearable ! The world to- 
night, again, seems blue. Yesterday my 
heart was buoyant; now it is depressed. 
That woman’s strange talk has impressed 
me. Yet she seemed to be honest, and to 
have authority for her statements. The 
clock is striking eight, and I will dress and 
go to the Bishop’s. It’s only a few blocks 
away. I will hear something definite. It 
can be no worse. It may possibly be some- 
thing better.” 

She adjusted her hat, snugly pinned her 
blue cape about her throat, and drove to 
the Bishop ’s residence. To her ring at the 
door a servant came and admitted her into 
the parlor. 


The Tragedy of Baden 


161 


“He will be here presently; come in. But 
the train is late, and you just make yourself 
at home while you ’re here. ’ ’ 

“How late?” Mrs. Coleman asked. 

“Oh, half an hour, I believe.” Then she 
added: “There’s a crowd of gentlemen 
been already waiting for him in the hall. 
He’ll surely be here, madam.” 

While Mrs. Coleman sat in the little par- 
lor at the Bishop’s residence, awaiting the 
return of his belated Lordship, other scenes 
in other portions of the city of Baden, 
which have an important bearing on this 
narrative, were about to be enacted. 

Mrs. Coleman waited wearily in the par- 
lor at the Bishop ’s residence. She thought 
he never would arrive. Nine o’clock came, 
and he had not appeared, and a crowd had 
assembled to meet him on business as soon 
as he came. 

“This waiting is wretched; this uncer- 
tainty terrible ! My heart sinks deeper and 
deeper with each wasted minute. ’ ’ 

But he came in at last, and went to his 
supper; then he went to the hall, by ap- 
pointment, to confer with his gentlemen vis- 
itors. It was ten by the time he had fin- 
ished and called on the lady. 


162 


The Tragedy of Baden 


“Benedicite te!” he exclaimed, as he en- 
tered the parlor, and remarked, “My dear 
child, how can I serve you?” 

Mrs. Coleman told who she was, how she 
had placed her daughter at the orphanage 
seven years before; how a woman named 
King had called there two years before, and 
with his high recommendation had taken 
off her child, since which time no trace of 
either Mrs. King or the child could ever be 
had. 

The Bishop stretched his eyes at this in- 
formation. 

“King — King,” he repeated. “I do not 
know such a person. I never recommended 
such a party. It’s a base forgery. It’s a 
robbery. Some person has stolen your 
child, under a forged recommendation, and 
I fear for the consequences.” 

The mother collapsed at this intelligence. 
It was the last lingering ray of hope that 
had sustained her. The Bishop’s states 
ment but confirmed her saddest fears. 

“Abducted ! Stolen for a life of shame ! 
My only child ! My darling daughter, is it 
for this I labored as a menial in order to 
restore you to a life of comfort and happi- 
ness? Oh, wretched existence ! oh, blighted 
life! What hope is there for me?” and 


The Tragedy of Baden 163 

she sank back on the sofa and wept like a 
child. 

“Be comforted, daughter,” said the 
Bishop, in his softest tones. “Providence 
is kind to the afflicted ; take this little medal 
and wear it near your heart, and trust in 
God.” 

She took it mechanically, as a dernier re- 
sort, and pinned it to her bosom, then 
heaved a sigh. 

“Thanks, my dear sir. I have hut one 
recourse left now, and that is to place my 
child’s case in the hands of a detective, 
as advised by the mayor. It is late, but I 
cannot go to rest this night until I have 
started on this investigation ; and even then 
I could not sleep with such a pall as this 
hanging over my heart. Thanks again, 
dear Bishop. I feel better. I will seek a 
detective. I will lay my case before him 
and invoke his assistance. I will trust in 
God.” 


CHAPTER XIV 


That evening Benson’s body was carried 
to the city cemetery. It went out in the lit- 
tle hospital spring wagon, a vehicle held 
about the institution for sundry purposes. 
Sometimes it brought up from the city the 
week’s supply of food and medicines, and 
sometimes it bore away the municipal con- 
signments to the cemetery. In every in- 
stance, John, the negro roustabout around 
the institution, drove the wagon, and he 
usually traveled in a trot and with a whis- 
tle. Benson had gone out some hours be- 
fore, and the students sat in the hospital 
office, as was their wont in the evening, dis- 
cussing whatever chanced to come first into 
their minds. 

“See here, boys,” said Harris, 
“wouldn’t that fellow make a splendid sub- 
ject for dissection? By George, I would 
like to see his brain. ’ ’ 

“And I would give a dollar to see what 
his liver looks like,” remarked Gross. 

“Well, why can’t we have a little dissec- 
tion to-night here among us? Doc will tell 

164 


The Tragedy of Baden 


165 


us what’s what. We’ve only had one show- 
ing here this winter ; at this rate we ’ll never 
know anything at all about anatomy. ’ ’ 

4 4 You're right there,’ ’ said Gross. “Sup- 
pose we hitch up old Dun and go out and 
get him?” 

‘ ‘ Good, ’ ’ said Harris. “ I ’ll go with you, 
and we ’ll leave Grant here to fix up the dis- 
secting house for us.” 

The determination having been reached 
to resurrect Benson for the purpose of 
studying his anatomy in a leisurely and sci- 
entific manner, the negro was ordered to 
hitch up, and prepare himself for a night’s 
trip to the cemetery. John well knew what 
this meant, and in fifteen minutes he drove 
around to the front gate, with a couple of 
shovels and a corn sack, and other essen- 
tials, ready. 

“John,” inquired Harris, “are you 
ready?” 

“Yes, sir; I’ve got everything there that 
you need,” replied the negro. 

“Well, take us to that fellow you carried 
out this evening.” 

“Say! We will have to go by and put 
old Clayton on to it, won’t we?” said Gross. 

“Sure,” answered Harris. “He’s in 
with us, but we’ll have to pay him three dol- 
lars for his trouble.” 


166 


The Tragedy of Baden 


“That’s all right/ ’ replied Gross; “I’ve 
got the money for him.” 

The spring wagon was driven up to the 
sexton’s residence, and that worthy trades- 
man was called out and the bargain made. 

‘ 4 Hold on, boys,” he said, 4 4 until I get 
my hat, and we ’ll all go out together. ’ ’ 

It was now about nine in the evening, and 
very few people were passing. The men 
huddled together as best they could in the 
wagon, and drove along, conversing in a 
low tone of voice. 

“I buried him shallow,” said the sex- 
ton, 4 ‘thinking maybe you fellows would 
like to have him again, and I think I was 
right, wasn’t I?” 

“You’re always right, Clayton,” said 
Harris. 

“Well, I like to stand in with you young 
doctors,” said Clayton, “because I look to 
you for the source of my revenue in the 
future. We are sort of partners, you know, 
and I believe in holding up my end of the 
business.” 

“We sure think lots of you, Clayton,” 
remarked Gross. 

“That’s no joke,” said Harris. 

“Well, boys, I think lots of you all, and 
whenever you want any little work like this 


The Tragedy of Baden 167 

done, just call on Mike Clayton, and he will 
always help you.” 

4 ‘ Say, boys, we Ve got a bottle here some- 
where!” exclaimed Gross. 4 ‘Let’s pass it 
around.” 

“Good!” said Clayton. “I second the 
motion. ’ ’ 

“John, where’s the bottle?” 

‘ ‘ Here it is, ’ ’ said the driver, passing it 
back half empty. 

“Help yourself, Mr. Clayton.” 

“Age before beauty,” responded the sex- 
ton. “And here’s to the medical students; 
may they live long and multiply.” 

By this time the party had arrived at 
the cemetery grounds. 

“Drive right in,” directed the sexton. 
“We are all at home here.” 

“Suppose we are detected?” suggested 
Gross. 

“You’ll go to the pen; that’s all,” said 
Harris. 

“Gads, that would be terrible!” 

“Yes, but you could get out again. Old 
Ketchum would get you out.” 

“You leave that all to me,” interrupted 
Mr. Clayton. “If they detect us, we’ll tell 
them we are moving a body for shipment. 
I’d like to see them disprove it. I’ve told 
them that before.” 


168 


The Tragedy of Baden 


They now reached Benson’s grave, and 
hitching the horse, each one stood around, 
prepared for the task assigned to him. Old 
Clayton nearly emptied the bottle, and be- 
gan vigorously shoveling dirt. 

The sexton and the negro took the shov- 
els and had commenced to move the dirt 
from Benson’s grave. Both of them were 
well under the influence of liquor, and each 
entered on his task with a zeal that seemed 
commendable. Old Clayton stopped to blow. 

‘ 4 Boys,” he said, in a low tone of voice, 

‘ ‘ there came a pretty little widder out here 
this evening, and looked at this grave.” 

6 ‘ You bet she was, ’ ’ said Harris. ‘ 4 1 sent 
her out here. By George! I wish she was 
a little younger,” added the student. 

“What would you do if she was?” in- 
quired the sexton. 

4 ‘ Why, I would set my cap for her, ’ ’ re- 
plied Harris. 

“Hadn’t you better get something un- 
der that cap before you go setting it for 
widders?” said the sexton. 

“If I could get a rich and pretty one I 
wouldn’t need to put very much under it.” 

“Well, you are about right,” said old 
Clayton, with a chuckle. “She is Frank 
Coleman’s widder; her husband was shot 


The Tragedy of Baden 


169 


here, some years ago, by old Coon. The 
old scoundrel! They ought to have hung 
him for it!” 

4 ‘Well, see here,” ventured Gross, 4 4 sup- 
pose they should send here for these re- 
mains, what would you do about it?” 

4 4 Why,” replied the sexton, 44 I would 
send them somebody else’s.” 

4 4 How would that work?” inquired 
Gross. 

4 4 Why, IVe done it before, and it worked 
all right,” said the sexton. 

4 4 1 ’ll bet a dollar that widow w$s in love 
with this fellow, and she’s going to have his 
remains removed,” said Harris. 

4 4 I’ll bet you two to one she will not,” 
replied the sexton, sharply. 4 4 She ’s got one 
lover laying over on the other side of the 
yard now, and she would never put the two 
of them together. ’ ’ 

The spading was resumed in silence. The 
night was dark, yet the stars above gave 
light enough to work by. The low, shrill 
twitter of the nighthawk as it darted 
through the foliage of the cemetery added 
to the solemnity and weirdness of the 
scene. 

4 4 Don’t make any noise with the box, 
boys, ’ ’ requested the sexton. 

4 4 Those mounted police are around here 


170 


The Tragedy of Baden 


sometimes, and if we are caught we’ll all 
go to the pen.” 

“Say, boys,” remarked Gross, sadly, 
“I’m sick already, and I will have to leave 
you. ’ ’ 

“If you do,” said old Clayton, firmly, 
“you will never live to get to the gate alive. 
The devil would have you before you got 
half way. Stay here and stick it out like 
a man.” 

About this time the shovel had struck the 
wooden box below, and the grating sound 
produced made Gross’ blood run cold. 

“Now here,” said the sexton to John, 
“pass this rope under your end, and I will 
fix mine. Are you ready?” 

“All right at this end,” said John. 

“Will you lads give us a hand? You 
sick man, you go there and help the nig- 
ger ; he’s at the lightest end. Now, all haul 
together. ’ ’ 

Slowly the heavy box and its contents 
yielded to the force applied, and was drawn 
to the surface. 

“Right out here in the grass, boys.” 

And in an instant the box and Benson 
were safely landed on the grass above the 
ground. 

“Now, prize up your end of the lid,” said 
the sexton, addressing the colored man, 


The Tragedy of Baden 


171 


J ohn ; and in less than a minute the lid was 
removed from the box and the coffin con- 
taining Harry Benson was laying there ex- 
posed. 

“Yank it out!” said the sexton, and the 
coffin containing the mortal remains of the 
coffee drummer from New York was landed 
on the cold and dew-laden weeds of the cem- 
etery. 

“Now take off the lid!” ordered the sex- 
ton. John was an adept in this specialty, 
having served three seasons about the hos- 
pital in the business, and he drew out from 
somewhere a chisel and began to unscrew 
the lid of the coffin. Silently the work was 
performed; solemnly the stars twinkled 
down from above on the outlawed proceed- 
ings going on in the graveyard of Baden. 
And the nighthawk twittered as he shot 
through the foliage pursuing his prey. 

“What are you afraid of?” said Clay- 
ton to Gross. “You’ve got to be here some 
day yourself. Now off with the lid, and to 
hell with the owner. Come, all together!” 
Off went the lid as directed, and there lay 
the cold, quiet, ashy remains of the drum- 
mer. Not a change had occurred. The same 
cold, pale and silent features that went out 
from the hospital. 

“A magnificent subject,” said Harris. 


172 


The Tragedy of Baden 


“I’d rather be at home playing euchre — 
to-night — than to be here, ’ ’ thought Gross. 
“It is horrible !” 

“Now, where is your sack?” asked the 
sexton. “Bring it here, and we’ll just dump 
him head foremost into it, and you can tie 
it around his feet. Come, now!” said the 
sexton, “all together!” 

As Benson was drawn from his snug and 
comfortable resting place in the coffin, the 
cool air of the cemetery, the pure oxygen 
of heaven suddenly rushed against his 
cheeks and into his nostrils, and acted like 
a mild galvanic current on him. Then he 
breathed an instant, and his consciousness 
returned. They were about to dump him 
into the corn sack. The air and the hand- 
ling revived him. He recognized in an in- 
stant that something was wrong, and with 
a spring, as though from a horrible night- 
mare, he burst from their hands, and stag- 
gering, ejaculated : 

“What’s this? Where am I? Who are 
you ? ’ ’ 

The gang fell back in horror; the negro 
fled. Gross fainted, falling with a heavy 
thud upon the graveyard grass. Old Clay- 
ton seized a nearby spade and made an aim- 
less though terrific pass at Benson, and 
would have felled him to the ground but 


The Tragedy of Baden 173 

for his staggering out of reach. Harris 
alone stood calm, firm, and resolute. 

“We’re friends,” said he. 

“Where am If” inquired Benson, feebly. 

“In the cemetery,” replied Harris and 
the sexton, conjointly and excited. 

‘ ‘ What does it mean f How came I here f ’ 1 

“Be calm,” said Harris. “We are 
friends.” 

“You are robbers!” exclaimed Benson. 
“You have brought me here and robbed 
me! Give me my watch, or I’ll kill both 
of you!” 

“It’s a mistake, ’ ’ said the sexton. 

‘ ‘ Explain instantly, or by the Great Horn 
Block ! I’ll kill you both instantly ! What’s 
thisf Where am If How came I heref 
What are you doing to mef I see it all! 
You rascals have brought me here to rob 
me, then bury me; but I’ve waked up on 
you! Now I’ll take one of you at a time, 
or both of you, if necessary, and whip you ! 
Throw up your hands, you infernal scoun- 
drels!” said he, grabbing a spade. 

“We surrender!” said Harris, now sym- 
pathizing with the deluded drummer. Ben- 
son stood upon the cemetery grounds, hat- 
less and shoeless, pale and sepulchral look- 
ing, and with uplifted shovel, shouted in 
a feeble voice : 


174 


The Tragedy of Baden 


“Give back my watch! Give me my 
money !” 

“See here, my friend,” said Harris, “we 
are not robbers; we are yonr friends.” 

“Yon are dead!” said the sexton. 

“The hell you say!” exclaimed Benson. 
“Who told yon so? Dead, the devil! Ex- 
plain yourselves! Who are yon? Where 
am I? What am I doing here? What are 
you fellows trying to do with me?” 

“Yon have been very sick,” said Harris, 
speaking rapidly, 1 ‘ and yon have been wan- 
dering about this cemetery, and we came 
here to take yon back to yonr room.” 

“Is this Baden?” 

“Yes.” 

“Where are my shoes?” 

“Yon escaped without them. Yon ran 
off without yonr hat. ’ ’ 

“It’s no such thing. I ’ve been asleep for 
an hour ! 9 7 

“You’ve been sick for a day or two,”* 
said Harris, “and were out of yonr mind, 
and wandered out here, and we came here 
to get yon.” 

“That’s a singular tale yon are telling 
me. What’s that open grave for? I came 
to Baden this evening, and went to sleep in 
The Crescent saloon.” 

“And he drugged yon!” exclaimed old 


The Tragedy of Baden 


175 


Clayton, “as hie has done many a fellow 
before ! ’ 9 

“What! Have I been drugged? Now I 
see through it. Drugged and robbed, 
and ” 

“ Turned adrift in the cemetery !” ex- 
claimed Harris. 

“Boys, are you honest V 9 

“Yes; we swear to it!” 

“Then take me home; show me to a ho- 
tel. No, take me to an officer of the law; 
take me to a good detective ! I am dazed, 
boys, a little — take me out of this ! I ’m dry 
as Hades ! Who’s got anything to drink?” 

Clayton gave him the few swallows he 
had left in the bottle, and Benson revived. 

“Now I feel better. You fellows get me 
out of here, and take me to a policeman — 
no ! to a good detective — something’s wrong 
— I am robbed. I remember going into The 
Crescent this evening. I had on my watch. 
I am now out here in this graveyard, and 
my watch and money are missing and gone ! 
Take me to a detective, and do it at once ! ’ * 

Harris and the sexton stood thunder- 
struck. They took in the situation quickly. 

“They have been too soon at the hos- 
pital with the corpse. They have made a 
mistake — they’ve made a horrible blun- 
der!” thought Clayton. 


176 


The Tragedy of Baden 


“Come!” said Harris and the sexton. 
“We will steer you out of this. We will 
take you to a detective who will treat you 
fair and get you back your money. ’ ’ 

And they steadied him as he walked, for 
he was still weak, over the grass and the 
graves in the yard, to the wagon standing 
near. 

“Oh, my!” said the drummer, “my legs 
and my arms are so sore. By the Great 
Horn Block! I believe I’ve been beat up! 
Who have you fellows killed out there on 
the ground? I feel better.” And they 
helped him to get into the wagon. 

‘ ‘ What are you going to do with that sick 
one on the ground?” asked the sexton. 

“Let me see,” said Harris, and he re- 
turned and carefully examined Gross, lay- 
ing there in a faint. ‘ ‘ He ’s all right, ’ ’ said 
the dare-devil student. “We’ll leave him 
here. ’ ’ 

“No,” said old Clayton. “That would 
be cruel.” 

“You leave him there!” said Harris. 
“He’s studying to be a doctor, and if we 
carry him off now it would ruin him. Leave 
him where he is, and let him get home the 
best way he can.” 

“But the grave!” said the sexton. “We 


The Tragedy of Baden 


177 


must cover it up, or the town will be on to 
us in the morning ! 9 9 

‘ 4 Come here early in the morning , 9 9 said 
Harris, “and cover your grave up; but let 
us get away from this place as soon as we 
can . 9 9 

A minute later the wagon drove off with 
the three, Harris driving, while Gross lay 
in a dead faint in the cemetery, by the open 
grave and the coffin, with the nighthawks 
flying around him. 

“Now,” said Harris, “to Walt Whit- 
man ’s we will drive with the dead man . 9 9 

It was a mile to the detective 9 s office, and 
they moved slowly. The cool air was re- 
viving Benson; he was sore from his blis- 
ters, but soon grew familiar with his com- 
rades. As yet he had not realized that he 
had been buried. He thought he had been 
drugged, robbed, and spirited away to the 
cemetery. All parties were dazed, except 
Harris. 


CHAPTER XV 


Walter Whitman sat in his little office, 
the personification of manliness and grace, 
with his cold black eyes riveted on the 
trembling maiden seated in front of him. 
He had exchanged the rough disguise he 
wore a few minutes before, and now ap- 
peared arrayed in his usual black cloth suit, 
with his diamond button flashing from his 
snowy shirt. 

“ And you are the daughter of Ella Cole- 
man?” 

“Yes,” she replied. 

“You the child of the only woman on 
earth I ever loved! Incredible it seems! 
And to think that, all these years, you have 
been living in this city, unknown to me! 
I thought you went to Europe with your 
mother, and had I only had the slightest 
inkling of your being here, you would have 
long ago been better situated, and far hap- 
pier. How in the world, child, did you drift 
into the hands of those degraded people ? ’ 9 

“They took me away from the orphan- 

178 


The Tragedy of Baden 


179 


age, sir,” replied Kate, “upon the written 
recommendations of the mayor and the 
Bishop of Baden.” 

‘ ‘ Then they forged those papers on you, 
for no respectable person here would ever 
have given such people any testimonial of 
character whatever. They presented forged 
papers to you ; and the penalty for such a 
crime, in this State, anyhow, is a ten years ’ 
]ife in the penitentiary. Could I but prove 
that miserable act upon them I could easily 
secure their convictions.” 

“I saw and read the testimonials my- 
self,” said Kate, now partially recovering 
from her fright, “and I could swear to both 
of them, if called on; so could the Superior 
of the orphanage, if she is living . 9 9 

“Then they have abducted you!” ex- 
claimed Walter Whitman. “A penitentiary 
offense in itself. And besides this, they did 
so under a couple of forgeries. Did they 
know who you were ? ” he inquired. 

“She did,” answered Kate, “for she 
asked me my name at the start ; but he was 
under the impression all the time that my 
name was Kate Goldman. I heard his wife 
tell him this was my name, but I never knew 
why.” 

4 ‘ The base hypocrite ! ’ ’ replied Whitman, 
his black eyes flashing rays of fire. “Well, 


180 


The Tragedy of Baden 


you are released, ’ ’ said he, ‘ ‘ and you ought 
to be happy.” 

‘ 4 Oh, I am, sir ! I am so happy I do not 
know how to thank you! But where will 
I go now? Who will employ me ? ’ 9 

‘ ‘ Don ’t you fret over that. I will provide 
for you. Know, child, again, that your 
mother was the only woman I ever loved, 
and since her death I have, never seen a 
happy day. You are her living image ! I 
will, for her sweet memory, provide for 
you. I will place you in the convent here 
until you become of age and can manage for 
yourself . 9 9 

‘ ‘ Oh, sir, would that be right ? ’ 9 

“My child, your artless question proves 
the innocence of your soul. Yes, with those 
good people caring for you, it would be 
right; and know you, before proceeding 
further, there are ample revenues belong- 
ing to you here to make you independent. 
When your father died he owned many 
tracts of land in this State. They were 
small, however, and at that period practi- 
cally valueless. But time has made them 
valuable, and on one tract alone a town 
site is located. These tracts can now be 
sold and much money can be realized from 
them ; and as far as worldly goods are con- 
cerned you may consider yourself a wealthy 


The Tragedy of Baden 


181 


girl. All that is lacking now to make your 
life supremely happy is the companionship 
and guardianship of your devoted mother. 
She may be living; no proof of her death 
has ever been seen by any of us here ; and 
it is all surmise as to her death. For my- 
self, I am skeptical on such subjects, and 
believe in nothing until it has been proven. 
Let us take heart, Kate. I will investigate 
your mother’s whereabouts, for your sake, 
and we may yet discover her, alive, some- 
where in Europe. ’ ’ 

4 4 Oh, sir, you are so kind. I do not know 
how to thank you. But for you I would 
have perished where I was. You are my 
savior! May I kiss your hand, to thank 
you?” 

4 4 My dear child, your gratitude touches 
my heart. I am only too happy to have res- 
cued you from the wretched place you were 
living in.” 

Just then a loud rap was heard at Whit- 
man’s door. 

4 4 Kate, here is a reception-room for la- 
dies. I must request that you be seated in 
there for a few minutes, and later I will 
see you safely cared for for the night.” 

Again the rap was repeated, and louder 
this time, and Walter Whitman hastened 
to open the door. The hatless apparition 


182 


The Tragedy of Baden 


that stood there made the detective stagger. 
He recovered himself in a moment, how- 
ever, and exclaimed: 

“Why, how in the world did you get 
here f ’ ’ 

“Are you a detective ?” the apparition 
on the outside asked. 

“My name is Whitman, sir, and such is 
my employment.” 

“Well, I need one,” was the reply, “and 
that quickly’!’ 

“Come in. Are you not Mr. Benson, the 
drummer ? ’ ’ 

“I was yesterday, ” was the answer, “but 
I do not know who I am to-night. They say 
I’ve been out of my head, and have been 
wandering about in the cemetery. I know 
one thing — I have been robbed of all my 
money, and I want you to overtake the ras- 
cal that did it. ’ ’ 

“Have a seat, Mr. Benson,” Whitman 
replied. “I think I can help you. How 
much have you lost?” 

“One hundred and fifty dollars in bills, 
besides several dollars in silver,” he re- 
plied. 

“Where do you think you lost it?” 

‘ ‘ At The Crescent saloon, sure ! ’ ’ 

“When?” 

6 6 This very evening. ’ ’ 


The Tragedy of Baden 


183 


“ Could you swear to what you say?” 

“I will swear that I went into that sa- 
loon, called for a glass of beer, and as I 
drank it I thought I would be strangled, 
it was so hot. Then a young girl, who 
looked so innocent, came and sat by me, 
and fanned me, and then I fell asleep, and 
just now woke up in the cemetery, with two 
or three men holding me. I would have 
clubbed them, but they satisfied me of their 
honesty and friendship. They had a man 
laid out there dead and ready to be buried, 
and they left him there in order to show 
me the way here. ’ ’ 

“Yours is a remarkable adventure, Mr. 
Benson, and but for knowing something of 
your case beforehand, I might possibly 
doubt your statement. Who brought you 
here?” 

“A young doctor from the hospital, 
named Harris, and the sexton of the ceme- 
tery,” said Benson. 

‘ ‘ How came they to find you in the ceme- 
tery?” 

“Well, that’s all a mystery to me. They 
must have gone there to resurrect some 
fellow, and found me there. At least, that’s 
the tale they put up to me.” 

“Mr. Benson,” said the detective, slow- 
ly, and with his piercing black eyes bent 


184 


The Tragedy of Baden 


full upon his visitor, “the man they went 
to the cemetery to resurrect was yourself. 
You have been considered dead !” 

‘ ‘ The hell I have ! ’ ’ shouted Benson. That 
thing’s got to be a chestnut, and I don’t 
want to hear anything more about it! I 
never have been dead ! ’ ’ 

“It may be a chestnut, Mr. Benson, but 
a coroner’s jury sat on your remains this 
very day, and they said you were dead.” 

“Then indict the last damned one of 
them for perjury! It’s a libel, and it will 
break me up in business ! ’ ’ 

“Mr. Benson,” continued the detective, 
“you have had a terrible experience, and 
a fortunate escape from a fate more horri- 
ble than death.” 

“I should think I had, if I was dead.” 
“Listen to me! You went to The Cres- 
cent saloon on West Commerce street, not 
this afternoon, as you suppose, but at four 
o’clock in the afternoon of yesterday. The 
proprietor drugged you by adding to the 
beer you drank an enormous dose of chlo- 
ral. Four hours after this you were taken 
to the City Hospital for treatment, and you 
were in an insensible condition for twenty 
hours after that. I saw you there on the 
following day, and you appeared to me to 
be dead. I thought you were, at any rate, 


The Tragedy of Baden 


185 


and so did the doctors there ; and I directed 
the inquest. To-morrow it will all come 
out in the papers, and you will be able to 
read all about it. Under the belief that 
you were dead, they buried you from the 
hospital, and no doubt the men who caught 
you in the cemetery were students, who 
went there to get your body for dissection.’ ’ 

“ I know better,” said Benson. “ That’s 
a pipe dream you ’re giving me. ’ ’ 

“Mr. Benson, I see by the pin on the 
lapel of your coat that you belong to the 
same order as myself. Give me your hand ; 
and now, on the honor of a brother, I swear 
to you that I am giving you the truth ! ’ ’ 

“Then I am reconciled to all that you 
have told me, and believe it, ’ ’ said Benson. 
“I want you now to go for The Crescent 
saloon man who killed me, the City Hos- 
pital authorities who buried me, and the 
coroner’s jury who pronounced me dead; 
and for all that they are worth!” 

“I have,” replied Mr. Whitman, “al- 
ready arrested the saloon keeper, but for 
another crime, and if you can only prove 
that he stole your money, I will add rob- 
bery to the charge of criminal assault upon 
you, which I have made against him. As 
it is late, however, I will take up your case 
for you in the morning, and see if I can se- 


186 


The Tragedy of Baden 


cure the proof of robbery I wish to have 
against him. Now, I recognize you as a 
brother in distress, and I want to help you. 
I see your hat and shoes are gone, but that 
I can account for. They will be restored 
to you to-morrow, as also will your watch. 
Until then, however, I will supply you with 
the former. I have shoes which will prob- 
ably fit you, in my private office. My hat, 
however, is a silk one, and if you do not 
object to wearing such you are welcome to 
its use until you can secure your own ; and 
as for your lost money, I will put a de- 
tective on the trail for it as soon as I can 
obtain the proper clue to work on.” 

There is no telling how long this inter- 
view would have lasted had it not been in- 
terrupted at this moment by a gentle rap 
upon the door. 

4 4 Someone comes to see me on business 
at this late hour, and as interviews in this 
office are usually considered confidential, I 
must ask you, Mr. Benson, to step into my 
private office for a minute or two, where 
I will see you later. Help yourself to my 
hat and shoes, and make yourself at home. ’ 1 

Walter Whitman opened the door, with 
an air of confidence, and then recoiled. Was 
he sure? He stood and stared at the fig- 
ure standing there in the dark. 


The Tragedy of Baden 187 

* ‘ Is it a dream, or am I deceived ?” said 
he, aloud. 

“Neither,” said the figure, slowly ex- 
tending her hand. “Walter Whitman, do 
you know me?” 

“Do I know that voice? Could I ever 
have forgotten you, once having loved you, 
and for the past five years having mourned 
you as one dead? Come in from the night, 
and tell me how you came to be alive and 
wandering alone about the streets of Baden 
at this hour. ’ ’ 

“Walter Whitman, you believed me 
dead, but I am living; and as a last resort 
for the relief of my distracted mind and 
almost broken heart, I come to you for 
aid!” 

“Be comforted, Ella Coleman. What- 
ever aid I can render you is at your service. 
Be seated now, and tell me all your trou- 
bles.” 

There was something so gentle, so assur- 
ing, and so comforting in all his words and 
manner, that a load seemed lifted from the 
mother’s heart. 

‘ ‘ Have I not aided you before ? ” he softly 
asked her. 

“Yes, many a time; and I can never for- 
get you.” 

“You have some care upon your mind,” 


188 


The Tragedy of Baden 


said he, in softest tones, 4 ‘and it is barely 
possible that I can remove it. What is itV 9 
“Walter Whitman, when I left this coun- 
try, seven years ago, I left my child be- 
hind; my circumstances at the time would 
not admit of my taking her to Europe with 
me. As the safest place within my means 
to have her cared for, I placed her in the 
Baden Orphanage, expecting to return and 
claim her at some future day. In Italy I 
worked as a menial for her sake, for five 
long years. In my efforts to earn an hon- 
orable existence for us both I succeeded, 
and but yesterday I landed here to claim 
my child. Imagine the horrible intelligence 
I have this day received about her. Car- 
ried away, in her innocence and youth, by 
parties who forged papers to secure her, 
and whose whereabouts cannot be learned ; 
and for some base servitude I dare not 
think of ! All day have I run from one au- 
thority to another, crossing death itself in 
my aimless search to find her. No one 
knew her abductors. IjTone offered any hope 
to me for her discovery. I therefore, as a 
last resort, have wandered here, in my dis- 
tress, to appeal to you for your aid in find- 
ing out her whereabouts. Can you not give 
me some hope to live on until this dreary 
night is over?” 


The Tragedy of Baden 


189 


“Ella Coleman, be comforted. I can as- 
sist yon, and I am going to do so. Your 
presence here to-night has been a great sur- 
prise, but nevertheless a joyful and a most 
fortuitous one to me. I can and will assist 
you. With little time I can locate your 
daughter. I feel assured I know of her 
whereabouts this minute. ’ ’ 

“Walter Whitman, speak ! Is she alive ?” 

“Yes, she was so yesterday.’ ’ 

“Is she well? Is she happy? Is she 
safe?” 

“Aye, Ella Coleman, well, happy, and 
safe, and as pure and innocent as when 
you plucked her from the chalice of your 
heart and planted her in the sanctuary of 
the orphanage seven years ago. ’ 9 

“Ah, Walter, you have raised a moun- 
tain from my heart. What news could be 
more glorious to a half-crazed mother? Let 
me thank you for this solace. May I fall 
upon my knees and offer you my feeble 
gratitude ? 9 9 

“No, Ella Coleman; rather let the hom- 
age come from me . 9 9 

“Why — how — what homage do you 

owe?” 

Whitman gently reached out and took her 
hand and lightly pressed it. 

“Ten years ago,” said he, “I courted 


190 


The Tragedy of Baden 


you. I was impetuous and premature, and 
you turned to the emblem of your sorrow 
you had about you, and asked me not to 
torture you. In deference to the sanctity 
of your holy wishes at that time, I turned 
away and buried my emotions. I saw where 
I was wrong, and yet I loved you fondly. 
You glided from my sight before I knew 
you contemplated going. Even your lovely 
child was hidden where I least expected to 
find her, and thus I lost your trail. Now 
the objections to my love, which then pre- 
vailed, do not exist. In all your lifetime 
I never felt that I had such a claim upon 
you as I have at present. I have found 
your daughter for you, I have restored her 
to your heart as beautiful and innocent as 
when you left her.” 

“Tell me, Walter Whitman,” said she, 
trembling, where is my child?” 

“I will show her to you in another min- 
ute, ’ ’ he replied. 

“Speak out, and calm my throbbing 
heart ! ’ ’ she cried. 

“May I claim that heart?” he softly an- 
swered, “when I bring the child?” 

“Let me think a minute. It seems so 
long.” 

“Yes, the longest ten years I have ever 


The Tragedy of Baden 191 

endured in all my life,” responded Whit- 
man. 

“And — you have loved me all that 
time?” 

“Yes, and even longer.” 

“I thought it was a foolish sentiment 
when you first told me of it.” 

“Do you believe my statement now?” 

‘ ‘ Could I do otherwise ? ’ ’ 

“May I love you still?” 

“Ask me in the presence of my daughter 
when she is restored. ’ ’ 

‘ 4 She knows I love you. ’ ’ 

“When did you inform her?” 

4 ‘ Ten minutes ago. ’ 1 

“Where?” 

“In this office.” 

“Restore her to me, Walter, and my 
heart is yours.” 

Whitman walked rapidly to the door 
leading to his sitting-room, and, opening it, 
exclaimed : 

‘ ‘ Katy, come ! I have a surprise in store 
for you.” 

Mrs. Coleman closely followed him. At 
the call of her name the girl ran forward 
into the detective’s office. Then there was 
an instantaneous pause, a burst, a cry of 
joy, and the two women fell into each 
other’s arms, weeping and sobbing. 


192 


The Tragedy of Baden 


‘ ‘ Mamma, mamma!” 

“My child, my child !” And the stern 
and stoic detective, nnnsed to such emotion, 
turned aside to let the women talk, while 
his glistening eyes told of the tender chord 
that had been touched. 

4 ‘ And now, Kate, ’ ’ interrupted the elated 
detective, ‘ ‘ I have another surprise, and I 
trust a joyful one. There came to Baden 
on yesterday’s steamer a gentleman in 
whom you may be interested. His name, I 
believe, is Benson.” 

“Oh, wasn’t it terrible, his untimely 
death!” interrupted Mrs. Coleman. 

“Oh, the poor fellow who died at ‘The 
Crescent ! ’ ” exclaimed Kate. 

“Well, it’s a mistake,” replied Whitman. 
“Benson was not dead, but sleeping. In 
the great economy of nature these errors 
are sometimes made. And since I have 
good reasons to believe that you both know 
him, I will wake him up and introduce him 
to you. 

“Mr. Benson, some people here wish to 
see you,” called the detective. 

“Say, I haven’t got my sample case, but 
I can tell you all about it,” exclaimed the 
drummer. “How many sacks do you 
want?” 

Benson came into the general office as re- 


The Tragedy of Baden 193 

quested, with Whitman’s beaver on, not 
dreaming who the callers were. 

“Mr. Benson, Mr. Benson! To life, to 
life again !” exclaimed the ladies. 

“By the Great Horn Block ! If this isn’t 
more happiness than I expected to encoun- 
ter when I went out to the cemetery this 
afternoon. Why, here’s the prima donna, 
and here’s the little girl that caught the 
flies for me yesterday. Somebody intro- 
duce me to you, quick. This is Kate, and 
if I had a dollar I would bet it on her being 
the missing beauty. Kate, the lineal de- 
scendant of the Mustard King of old Ken- 
tucky. But I haven’t a dollar and I cannot 
bet; the old villain at The Crescent got it 
all.” 

“Yes, I saw them from above while they 
were robbing you ! ’ ’ exclaimed the girl. 

“Then we have all the evidence we 
need,” interrupted Whitman, “and you 
shall have your money back to-morrow, Mr. 
Benson. ’ ’ 

A loud rap at the door now interrupted 
the conversation, and Whitman opened the 
door. 

“Ah, you, Paul,” said the detective. 
‘ i Come in. ” 

“Oh, Paul, Paul, my only friend in dis- 
tress!” cried the girl; and they met, and 


194 


The Tragedy of Baden 


for a moment fell to congratulating one an- 
other on the happy denouement; and then 
she turned to her mother and Benson, and 
introduced him as the only bright solace in 
her wretched captivity. 

“I have called/ ’ said Paul Jones to his 
chief, “to report, and to turn in this case, 
as it did not belong at 1 The Crescent. ’ ’ ’ 

“ It is mine ! ’ ’ shouted Benson. ‘ ‘ Give it 
here, and now I am ready for orders. ’ ’ 

“We captured and handcuffed the vil- 
lain. O’Hoolyhan took him to jail, and the 
wife went along ; and I locked up the house 
and have brought you the key. And here’s 
all the money I found in the drawer; some 
queer-looking coins. Here’s a marked one, 
‘I. C. U.’ on its face.” 

‘ ‘ That ’s mine, ’ ’ exclaimed Benson. “Nel- 
lie gave it to me as a talisman; it was 
coined in ’33.” 

“Where did you find it?” asked Whit- 
man. 

“In his cash drawer,” said Paul. 

“It is yours,” said the chief; “may it 
bring you wealth and happiness, Mr. Ben- 
son.” 

“It shall do both; for now,” said Mrs. 
Coleman, “I am going to add a thousand 
others to it, and Nellie shall come on imme- 
diately, and I will see you both married. 


The Tragedy of Baden 195 

And for yon, Walter Whitman, I will place 
with yon, some time to-morrow, a check for 
enough to convict the two villains who stole 
my daughter and robbed my friend. ’ ’ 

“And now,” added Whitman, “it is so 
late, and we all feel so happy, let ns ad- 
journ to the Bon-Ton and wind up the 
evening with a royal good supper. 


THE END 


* 









